Truth About Forever From Wes
by Summer Glory
Summary: The title says it all. Just something I'm experimenting with. If you like it and want me to keep going just review.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay! I'm trying this out from the beginning. It's challenging!!! If you like it, then I'll keep going, but I'm not entirely sure if I'm getting his character right. Of course he has to be so freaking quiet and mysterious. Also, I realize it might get a little boring reading the exact same dialogue from the book. Let me know if it is. Review if you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the following characters, plots, dialogues, etc. They belong to Sarah Dessen!!**

It was a nice night as I headed over to the van. As usual, I had barely taken in the atmosphere. They were mostly the same: bustling, rich people, who wanted nothing more than to loiter around a fancy house with a drink in their hands. Of course, I didn't mind. This was how my family and I made a living. But, despite the chaos that was always bound to ensue during these catering jobs, I just wished it would all happen _differently_, if that made sense. I took in a deep breath of the summer air, glad to be outside.

I was rummaging around through our supplies, looking for a platter Delia had-surprise-forgotten to bring in, when I heard Bert's unmistakable voice calling out an unmistakable "Gotcha!" I cringed as a startled shriek followed, then sighed, grabbed the platter, and made my way over to the debacle.

"Bert?" I called from the driveway. "What are you doing?"

"I'm...I'm scaring _you_ Aren't I?" he asked.

I stopped next to a girl around my age. Bert could be so dense sometimes.

"Nope," I said simply to the bushes his voice had come from. "Not me." Definitely not me. I looked at the girl, unable to make out much of her features, seeing as how it was dark and she was silhouetted against the light from the house.

"You okay?" I asked her, hoping she didn't plan on claiming assault or anything irrational like that. To my relief, I saw her nod.

I sighed inwardly and turned back to the bush, eyeing it until I caught a piece of Bert's clothing. I stuck my hand in and pulled him out. He stumbled forward onto the driveway. I didn't know people could turn that red.

"Bert. Honestly," I scolded.

"You have to understand," he said to the girl. "I'm down in a big way."

"Just apologize." Poor girl.

"I'm very sorry...I, um, thought you were someone else." I suppressed a snicker.

"It's okay," she replied sincerely, probably just wanting to get out of here. I noticed a box at her feet, then traced papers all down the driveway. I nudged Bert, alerting him to this. He mumbled something and bent to pick them up as I walked down the driveway, picking up the vagabond fliers there.

A light flickered on from outside the house, followed by Delia stepping outside.

"What in the world is going on out here?" she asked, hands on her hips, a spatula in one hand. "Where is that platter I asked for?"

"Right here," I replied as I walked back up to the girl, handing her the fliers.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem," I replied, making one last attempt to make out her features before going back inside.

The rest of the night passed by with normal Wish chaos entwined with normal party boringness. To ease my suffering, I watched my friends bustle around. Bert with his heavy, almost obnoxious walk, but, by no doubt, a people-pleaser. Kristy with her bouncy walk, full of confidence, her usual, subconscious game of avoiding the grabby people she played. Monica, with her slow, languid drag, completely oblivious she was out there to walk and let people eat, rather than just walk. Every now and then I spotted Delia in the kitchen as the door burst open, bustling hastily as she attempted to keep up with the demand. I found myself thinking back to my mother, wondering what it would be like if she were here, how different it would be. I shrugged this off as I poured someone else a drink. Before I knew it, we were loading up the van.

When we were finishing up, I tried as hard as I could to tune out Bert's apocalyptic theories and reports he was now rattling off to Monica. Though, the thought of being crushed, or however it was we were to go, by another planet was a tad bit disturbing.

"Ummm-hmmm," said Monica slowly, as if she'd paid attention, or cared, in the least.

"Bert, give it rest," I said, unwilling to go through the duration of another crackpot theory.

"I'm just trying to help her be informed!" Bert retaliated. I stared at him blankly, trying my hardest to keep my face nonchalant as Bert's turned dead serious. "This is serious stuff, Wes. Just because _you_ prefer to stay in the dark–"

"Are we ready to go?"called Delia, returning from the house once again, carrying the car seat she'd basically used to help keep Lucy sedated in one hand, the actual demon in the other. I took the seat from her hand. As I did, I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I looked towards the roof, but nothing was there. _Great_, I thought to myself. _Bert's finally getting a hold on me_.

"Did we get paid?" Bert asked, picking at a stain on his shirt.

"Had to comp half...The price of chaos," said Delia, as she made her way over to the other side. "Probably should bother me, but frankly, I'm too pregnant and exhausted to care. Who has the keys?"

Bert instantly offered to drive. I felt myself yawn as I pictured sitting in the van, going ten miles an hour towards home. No thanks. Obviously, the others were thinking along the same lines, as usual, as they all voted against it to, deciding to ignore Bert's indignant arguments.

Bert began pouting as the others climbed inside the van, having designated me as their driver.

"It's not a big deal," I said reassuringly to him, feeling pity for him. Bert took things way too personally, and, sometimes, if you let it go for too long, he managed to stretch out his unhappiness that much longer.

"I never get to drive. Never," he whined. "Even lazy Monotone got to last week, but never me. Never."

"You will," I spoke confidently. "Next week you'll have your own car, and you can drive whenever you want. But don't push this issue now, man. It's late.

He grumbled something in reply, but I knew he'd relented.

"You know that girl who was in the kitchen tonight, helping Delia?"

"Yeah," I said. I'd seen her only a few times after the little incident, whenever the door opened to reveal the kitchen. But I still hadn't gotten a good look at her. "The one you leapt out at?"

"Anyway," Bert said, clearly wanting to move past that. "Don't you know who she is?"

"No."

"Yeah you do," he said. _Okay, Bert_, I thought. _Whatever you say._ "Her dad was the coach when we used to run in that kids' league, back in elementary school. The Lakeview Zips. Remember?"

I opened the back door, hoping he'd get the hint as I noticed the others waiting impatiently inside. But then I did remember, stepping aside so he could get in.

"Oh yeah," I said, recalling my school running days. "Coach Joe, right?"

Bert repeated his name, sounding it out. "He was a nice guy."

I took a look around the area, silently agreeing with him, as I went to the driver's side, got in, and took off with the rest of the Wish gang.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so, if all of you who have read the first chapter, haven't realized, I tend to slack off a bit. Yes, I know, great quality, right? Not really. Sooo, here's the second chapter. Please, please, please be dead honest with me (though self-esteem killers tend to cause me to slack off a bit more sooo...you're call) because this is my first free-handed chapter, and if you don't point out any flaws in personalities or qualities or anything, then I'll have no idea to change them in later chapters. Thank you readers and aaaall reviewers!! And thank you, RaeTyphlosion, for pointing out my Kristy mistake in the first chapter. I might not change that anytime soon...rebellion feels good...I know, I'm so badass. Anyways, here's the second chapter: **

Delia was, in short, a rarity in the world. First of all, she worked herself senseless, but managed to maintain a positive, healthy composure that was far from robotic. She also juggled three children and a heavy stomach that promised a fourth soon to come. Not only did she juggle these children, but they actually turned out okay. Amazing, right? But no, that's not what truly set her so far apart from the other individuals. She had this quirky theory in her head that obstacles were placed in the road of life for a reason, and that it was better to just work around them.

Which is how I ended up pulling dear Delia's car out of the hole, again, the next day.

"Next time," I said to her, getting out of my truck. "You're on your own. If your hole's so brilliant it'll push you out itself."

"Who says there'll be a next time?" she asked me, handing me a plastic bag full of groceries. She grabbed the other bags and shut the trunk, keys jangling in her hand.

"Fate," I said. "Or your apparent lack of learning from mistakes."

"Oh, that was the first time in weeks I've hit that hole," she argued defensively.

"Keyword: you. Not the mailman, not the UPS man, not even a landscaper with the wrong address...We could get sued," I pointed out, opening the door.

"Don't be so negative, Wes," she scolded me, setting the bags on the counter. I rolled my eyes. Of course I was being negative. Negativity, in Delia's mind, was anything realistic. But shame on me for looking after our financial concerns.

"And," she continued, giving me a stern look. "If I catch you or Bert-or you and Bert-trying to fill in that hole again..."

I waited expectantly.

"Don't give me that look, Wesley, you know it'll be bad!" she said, exasperated. I laughed.

"Alright," I told her. I looked around the empty, and quiet, kitchen. "Where's Lucy?"

Delia had to think about this one for a moment, then she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, in an did-I-seriously-just kind of expression.

"In the...car?" It wasn't a statement.

I looked at her. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Aw, Wes, will you go get her?" she pleaded. "She always gets mad at me when I do that!"

"Can't imagine why," I muttered, going outside.

"Thank you!" she yelled from the house.

Sure enough, Lucy was sitting in her car seat in the back, her arms folded and her lower lip sticking out as far as it would go.

"Don't trip on that lip," I told her, opening the door.

"I'm not getting out," she said defiantly, looking at the headrest of the seat in front of her. "I'm angry."

"You know," I said, ducking my head near hers conspiratorially. "This isn't bad."

She gave me a look that no normal girl her age could produce. "She left me in the car, Wes."

"But see, I'll bet you could make her feel so bad, that you'd be able to get that little dollhouse you've been wanting out of her."

Her eyes got as big as saucers. "Really?"

I nodded, my face completely somber. "It worked last time, didn't it?"

She beamed, and held out her arms for me to hoist her up. I laughed, undid the seat, and picked her up.

I used part of the day to get a few things done around the house and yard. With so many of us, one might think our home was completely unkempt and disorderly. With our particular family, however, it was the opposite. We used our numbers to keep it neat and tidy. Not obsessive-compulsive, or anything, just clean. If each of us took a small amount of time to do one small thing, we learned, then it made it that much easier to have our own free time. Well, this didn't exactly apply to Delia. She was always finding, setting up, preparing, doing, or cleaning up for her job. For more than half of those listed my brother and I were usually included.

Though time-consuming and completely nerve-wracking, Bert and I never truly complained about our job, working for Wish Catering. Maybe it was the fact that it was our mother's old business, but that was only part of it for me. The thing is, catering wasn't routine, if that makes sense. I mean sure, you did the same thing every time, in a sense. But there was always something that threw us off completely, that got our hearts pounding. It was probably the same reason Gotcha! was so appealing to me. There's always, always, that moment where you're scared shitless. And that moment is amazing. But that's just me.

I was working on a sculpture, just a random one that I'd probably break back down to salvage for parts, when Delia came into view, holding Lucy and her purse.

"Just to let you know," said Delia. "I hate you."

"Aww," I said, pulling off my torch mask. "I love you, too. Where're you going?"

"Toy store," she said curtly. "To get Lucy a dollhouse she guilt-tripped me into buying for her, thank you very much."

"Wow, clever little thing," I noted innocently.

"Oh, don't give me that!" she snapped. "I know it was you who put that idea into her head."

"Well," I said, smiling. "Maybe that will remind you not to leave your child in a car."

She pointed at me, opened her mouth to say something, then shut it. She let out an exasperated groan and turned on her heel, stalking away. Lucy waved at me, grinning.

"Love you, Delia!" I shouted. She acknowledged me with a sharp flick of her wrist as she stalked to her car.

I smiled as I continued my work.

**One more thing: I understand that this chapter may seem completely random to some, or all, and I apologize. It's just kind of my way of feeling around, you know? Testing the waters, if that makes sense. I want to make sure I've got the characters down well enough to actually delve into the book. Thanks for reading! Remember to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

1**So I've come to the realization that I have a valid reason for my lack of updates. I let my friend borrow my TAF book (bad move) and didn't get a new one (yes, a new one, seeing as how she lost my old one) until a few days ago. **

**Thanks for the readers and reviews!! They were very reassuring...but I have a quick question that I need answering before I can really continue:**

_**Does Wes know Macy's dad died?**_

**This is probably a completely dumb question, but I'm definitely not going to try and guess. Please let me know! And I hope you enjoy. Sorry if it's another slow chapter.**

"How about an El Camino, Bert?" I asked, just to see the reaction he'd give me.

"An El Camino? Are you kidding me, Wes?" Bingo.

I eyed the piece of junk thoughtfully. "Well, it probably only has like a hundred and eighty-thousand miles on it."

Bert snorted angrily. "Great, so I'd probably get about twelve miles before it broke down. Great logic."

"Twelve miles is a lot," I noted. "Can you imagine running that?"

"I'm _not_ getting that car, Wes. Just drop it."

It was probably the boredom kicking in. We'd been walking around through the car lot for at least two hours trying to find a decent car with decent mileage for a decent price. It didn't exactly help matters that Bert was the most indecisive person on the planet.

I scratched the back of my head. "We could just share a car," I said hesitantly, not liking the idea myself. But I felt bad about the fact that this car lot was more of a junkyard.

He looked at me, checking if I was being serious or not. "I need to learn independence and...responsibility and stuff," he said, glancing at what looked to be a 1990 Oldsmobile. I quickly lead him on.

We walked the lot for several more minutes. I think Bert spent more time slapping mosquitoes off his skin than actually looking for his car. The humid summer air was making it hard to concentrate and think straight, which might help people understand why Bert pulled on my arm for me to stop.

What I had taken for a gigantic pile of rubble turned out to be, in fact, a car...Or something resembling a car. It was a poorly painted off-white color, and Bert was grinning at it like he'd just fallen in love. I hoped, as he walked around in a circle around it, that he would regain his vision and find out it wasn't the car for him...or anyone, for that matter. But he kept circling it.

I leaned towards the front grille, trying to make out lettering that had been painted over hastily. "Bert, it's an ambulance."

"I love it."

I pulled a hand threw my hair. "Bert," I said again, slower this time. "It's an _ambulance_."

"_Was_," he corrected me, as though it made a difference. "It _was _an ambulance."

The car salesman chose this time to swoop in for the final kill. "See something you like?" he asked in a too-sweet voice.

"No," I stated.

Bert shot me a look, a bead of perspiration running down his temple. "_Yes_," he said, turning back to the vulture. "I'll take this one."

"_Bert_!" I protested, incredulous.

"All right," continued the salesman, as though he hadn't heard me. He pulled the key out of his pocket, obviously having seen Bert's determined look from a mile away, and jiggled it in his hand. "Eight hundred, please." He flashed us a wide smile, as if it would distract us from the ridiculous pricing.

"Eight hundred?" I repeated. "No way. How many miles does this thing have on it, anyways? A million?"

The vulture faked a chuckle or two. "Only a hundred and twenty thousand. Bought it from the town auction about a month ago."

"I'll take it," Bert repeated, apparently not having heard what was just said.

I ran a hand over my face. "Oh, good God, Bert. Think about this!"

Bert thought about it (or said he did, at least), and, after haggling down a hundred fifty, he hopped in and followed my decent car back home. I looked in the rearview mirror as we pulled in, shamelessly hoping it would fall right into the hole. It didn't.

"This car's got to be the safest thing on the road," Bert said as he stepped out, slamming the creaky door. "Great for the apocalypse."

I sighed, shutting my own door. "Right. Just go get changed so we can pick up the girls. Your shirt is soaked."

He looked down at his shirt, reddening slightly, and then went into the house.

"And happy birthday," I called after him.

"Wes, put that down," he told me as we were driving to the given address, daring to take his eyes off the road. "You're going to break it."

I fiddled with the intercom for a few seconds longer, but nothing happened. "It's already broken," I stated, leaning back in my seat. He glared at me for half a second, and I smiled.

They were all loading up the van as we pulled into the driveway thirty minutes later. It was supposed to have been a fifteen minute drive, but Bert was a religious follower of the road rules.

He cut the engine and stuck his head out the window. "Ladies," he said in an ominous voice. "Witness the Bertmobile."

Crickets actually started chirping before somebody let out a gasp I recognized as Delia's.

Kristy was the first to recover. "Oh, my god. You've got to be joking." I saw her take a few tentative steps forward.

Bert forced his door open and hopped out, hitting the ground with a _thud_. "What?" he asked, hardly bothered with her obvious disapproval.

It took me a moment to get my door open. "I thought you were getting Uncle Henry's car," Delia stated hesitantly as I found the ground. I was surprised to see the girl Bert had scared standing next to Kristy. Her head was cocked politely as she took in the car.

Delia cleared her throat, eyeing the tank. "Wasn't that the plan?"

Bert stuck his chest out. "Changed my mind."

"Why?" she asked, walking up to peek into the vehicle. Her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head to one side, putting two and two together. "Wait," she began, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. "Is this an-"

"Vehicle that makes a statement? Yes," Bert replied. "Yes it is."

_An vehicle that makes a statement_, I thought to myself, going to stand against the bumper. _Clever, Bert_.

"Ambulance?" Her voice wavered with shock. "It is, isn't it?"

Kristy doubled over laughing. "No way!" She continued laughing, glancing up at my brother. "Bert, only you would think you could get action in a car where people have _died_."

Delia was circling the Bertmobile, her lips pursed. "Where did you get this? Is it even legal to drive?"

I shook my head, wondering why she was even asking.

"I bought it from that auto salvage lot by the airport," Bert said, grinning at his car. He ran a hand over the top of it as though it were a prized Doberman. "The guy there got it from a town auction. Isn't that the _coolest_?"

Delia looked at me, desperation and disapproval written all over her face. "What happened to Uncle Henry's Cutlass?"

"I tried to stop him," I said defensively. "But you know how he is. He insisted. And it _is_ his money."

"You can't make a statement with a Cutlass!" Bert exclaimed, jingling the keys.

Kristy had been spending most of her time looking Bert up and down, blatant disgust in her countenance. "Bert, you _can't_ make a statement, period. I mean, what are you _wearing_? Didn't I tell you not to dress like someone's dad?" She leaned forward, squinting at his shirt. "God. Is that shirt polyester?"

Bert was unabashed, running a hand over his shirt. "Poly-_blend_," he stated smoothly. "Ladies like a well-dressed man."

I ran a hand over my face.

"Donneven," Monica drawled, taking another drag on her cigarette.

Delia was still looking at the thing. "It's an ambulance."

"A former ambulance," Bert said again, running his hand over it once more. "It's got history. It's got personality. It's got-"

"Final sale status," I interrupted before he could work himself up. "He can't take it back. When he drove it off the lot, that was it."

Delia ran a hand through her mussed hair, shaking her head. Bert studied her almost apologetically.

"It's what I wanted," he told her. I sighed inwardly, realizing that's really the only thing that mattered.

Delia gave him a halfhearted smile and embraced him, her belly making it hard to fit her arms around his wider gerth. "Well, happy birthday, little man. I can't believe you're already sixteen. It makes me feel _old_."

"You're not old."

She smiled distractedly, getting caught in a memory. "Old enough to remember the day you were born." She pulled back to brush the hair out of his face, her hand resting maternally on his cheek. "Your mom was so happy. She said you were her wish come true."

Bert's nostrils flared before he looked down, trying to keep it together. Right after she died, the smallest things said to him could set him off crying for hours. He'd gotten stronger since then. Delia seemed to be thinking the same thing, for she leaned towards him and whispered in his ear.

He looked up at her, his face flushing with sadness and, maybe, happiness, before he looked into the trees.

Delia seemed to realize we were still here, and her gaze landed on the new girl. "Did you guys officially meet Macy?"

Ah, so Macy was her name.

"Macy, these are my nephews, Bert and Wes."

"We met the other night," Macy said, running a hand behind her neck.

My lips twitched at the memory. "Bert sprung at her from behind some garbage cans." It was so frustrating that her face was still hidden by the darkness. Ironic, because there was a lamp post right next to her that apparently wasn't turned on in the dark. The one behind her, of course, was on.

"God," Kristy began, annoyed. "Are you two still doing that? It's so stupid."

"I only did it because I'm down," he said in his defense. "By three!"

I smirked at him, knowing he was never going to catch up.

"All I'm saying is that the next person that leaps out at me from behind a door is getting a punch in the gut," said Kristy, filing down her perfectly painted nails. "I don't care if you're down or not."

"Mmm-hmmm," Monotone seconded.

Bert kicked a stray piece of concrete. "I thought she was Wes...And I wouldn't jump out from behind a door anyway. That's basic. We're way beyond that."

I decided not to mention the fact that I'd gotten two points from doing that.

"Are you?" Kristy asked, but Bert ignored her. She turned to Macy. "It's this stupid gotcha thing, they've been doing it for weeks now. Leaping out at each other and us," she shot us looks here. "Scaring the hell out of everyone."

"It's a game of wits," Bert said to her, trying to make it sound more mature than it was.

"Half-wits," Kristy added. Clever.

"There's nothing like a good gotcha."

Delia yawned, trying to shake the sleepiness from her eyes. "Well, I hate to break this up," she said, blinking. "But I'm going home. Old pregnant ladies have to be in bed by midnight. It's the rule."

Bert jumped into action. "Come on! The night is young! The Bertmobile needs _christening_!"

Kristy looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "We're all going to ride around in an ambulance?"

"It's got all the amenities! It's just like a car. It's _better_ than a car!"

She looked at him. "Does it have a CD player?"

"Actually-"

"No," I said. "But it does have a broken intercom system."

She snorted. "Oh, well, then. I'm sold."

Bert shot her a glare, obviously tired of her teasing. She smiled a genuine smile and squeezed his arm as she headed to the back. Monica stood up and followed her, wiping stray pavement off her clothes.

Delia pulled open the door to the van. She looked so tired I almost offered to drive her home. "Have a fun night. Don't drive too fast, Bert, you hear?"

Everyone found this hilarious. I wasn't the only one who knew about Bert's need to obey the speed laws. Macy stood still, looking understandably confused. I figured Bert had had enough of everyone's teasing for the night, so I held my composure...With difficulty, of course.

"Wes," Delia called out, shoving the key into the ignition. "Can you come here for a sec?"

I started over towards Delia, but met Macy in that slightly embarrassing dance as we tried to move around each other. Finally, though, her face was in the light.

She had her dad's eyes, I realized immediately. It might have been a while since I'd seen her dad, but I'd always remembered the eery grey color of them. Her cheekbones were set high, her golden blonde hair framing her face just so.

She seemed to be more aware of the situation than I was, for she stopped moving, allowing me to move past.

"Sorry about that," I said, flashing her a smile before heading around the van.

"Wes," Delia said, looking at me sternly. "I don't want Bert to get into any trouble, understood?"

I nodded, keeping the fact that I'd never let that happen to him to myself.

She nodded as well, seemingly reassured. "I want him to have a goodnight, though, okay? And I'm glad you let him get that...car."

I grinned. "Like I had a say in it?"

She chuckled and patted my arm, knowing Bert's ways all too well. "Alright. Well you all have a nice time."

"We will." I passed back around the van and found Macy heading towards her car. I should have asked her to come with us, but all that came out was, "Have a good night."

She nodded, seemingly distracted, and I got into the Bertmobile. Kristy was looking around, gingerly sitting down. Monica put out her cigarette, not even bothering to look around.

"Ugh, this thing has got to work, Bert," Kristy said, reaching for the radio dials. Some stations you could make out the hint of music, but static dominated each channel.

"So did Macy not want to come?" Kristy asked, hitting her hand against the box.

I cleared my throat. "I didn't ask."

She paused in her music efforts to give me an efficient glare, and then turned just as Bert pulled next to Macy's car.

"Hey," she called across me. "You want to come out with us?"

She looked taken aback, and I instantly felt bad about not asking her earlier. "Oh, no," she said, jingling her keys. "I really have to go-"

Kristy, her eyes still on Macy, absent-mindedly twisted the radio dial, and finally found a working song: someone outright shrieking their chorus at the top of their lungs. I winced, turning my head away to try to ease the ringing.

"-home," Macy finished with a smile.

Kristy turned down the volume so only neighbors within half a mile could hear. "Are you sure? I mean, do you really want to pass this up?" She looked pointedly around the Bertmobile. "How often do you get to ride in an ambulance?"

Something oddly familiar shot across this stranger's face.

"It's a refurbished ambulance," Bert grumbled.

Kristy rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she replied flatly, turning her attention back to Macy. "Come on, live a little."

"No, I'd better go," said Macy, looking at Kristy gratefully. "But thanks."

Kristy shrugged. "Okay...Next time, though, okay?"

The girl nodded. "Right," she said quietly. "Sure."

I found myself oddly disappointed that she couldn't be convinced to go. I mean, sure, it was very possible that she had other plans, but it didn't sound that way. It sounded like something was holding her back. I waved my hand out the window in goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

1**Thank you everyone for being so helpful and patient!! It means a lot. A conclusion has been reached: there's no real way of knowing. I leaned towards the majority of people's guesses, so I'm really hoping everyone's happy with it. If not, then I'm really sorry, but I couldn't continue without making the choice.**

**So here's the new chapter. I am really hoping you like it!!**

"One down," I began, setting another finger sandwich on the tray. "Two hundred more to go." Delia shot me a look. "How will you manage?"

Her brows narrowed in confusion. "Aren't you helping me?"

I nodded slowly. "For now," I said. "But I have to meet Mark for those parts I ordered, remember?"

Her face paled. "_What?!_" Her voice was higher than a dog whistle. "You're _leaving me?!"_

"I have to!" I said, holding my hands up in case she attacked me. She looked frazzled enough to be thinking about it. "It's the only time he'll be...close." I didn't necessarily think an hour-long drive was considered "close", but oh well.

"How am I supposed to finish these, Wesley?!" she demanded.

I gave her a look, spreading more cream cheese than necessary on the bread. "You have other employees, you know," I reminded her gently.

She furrowed her brows, looking past me as she thought about something. Then, she grabbed her tattered old phone number book out from the drawer and leafed through the pages, grabbing the phone. She pulled out a little rectangle of a business card and studied it through squinted eyes.

As she dialed a number, Lucy apparently thought this was her cue to start wailing. I moved to console her, but Delia nudged me back to the counter. "Just finish the sandwiches!" she hissed. "Hi, Mrs. Queen? It's Delia from Wish Catering, you might remember me." There was a pause, but the name didn't seem to ring a bell to me. "No, no. Actually, I'm calling for Macy...Thank you."

Ah, so she was going to try to reel the unsuspecting Macy in. Poor girl.

Lucy continued sobbing, but she wouldn't say anything, just kept reaching her hands up in the air, as though whatever she wanted at the moment would materialize.

"Oh, Lucy, honey, please," Delia begged. "You only do this when I'm on the phone, why is that? Hmmm? Why-Macy, hi, it's Delia"

I spread more cream cheese onto the next sandwich, dutifully ignoring Lucy's relentless howling.

"Oh, Lucy, sweetie, please God I'm begging you, just let Mommy talk for five seconds." I snorted, and Delia picked up an old stuffed bunny off the counter and wiggled it in front of the tot. "Look, here's your bunny, see?"

Lucy grabbed the bunny and clutched it to her chest, eventually calming down.

"What a selling point," I whispered to Delia, and she shot me another glare.

"Macy, I am so sorry. Are you still there?"

She sighed, seemingly fed up with chaos, and began, "The reason I'm calling..." she paused dramatically. "Is that I'm kind of in a bind and I could use an extra pair of hands. I've got this big luncheon thing tomorrow-" She stole a quick glance at my slow progress before continuing. "And currently I'm about two hundred finger sandwiches behind. Can you help me out?"

I rolled my eyes. I'd finished _at least_ eight sandwiches.

"I know it's short notice," she continued quickly. "But everyone else already had plans. So don't feel bad about saying no." She stopped, obviously feeling defeated. "It was just a shot in the dark, you know. I dug out your mom's business card and thought I'd at least try to woo you over here...And it's perfectly understandable too. I mean, I don't know why you'd want to spend a few hours up to your elbows in watercress and cream cheese." I paused in my sandwich-making, spotting the forgotten container of watercress next to the toaster...Oops. "Unless you just had nothing else to do."

Delia paused to listen, as I hurriedly began shoveling the watercress onto my "finished" sandwiches, hoping she wouldn't notice.

"Really? Wonderful." I looked up at her, and she was grinning like she'd been thrown a lifesaver. My eyebrows raised in my own accord, surprised that she'd agree to help. "Oh, God. You're saving my life! Here, let me give you the directions. Now, it's kind of a ways out, but I'll pay you from right now, so your driving time will be on the clock."

She hung up gleefully after giving her the essential information.

"What a nice girl," she sighed, waddling over to the counter to continue making sandwiches. I nodded absent-mindedly, feeling slightly guilty now about bailing. Maybe I should stay...

Delia interrupted my thoughts. "Didn't you used to run with her when you were little?" Her brows furrowed in thought. "I recognize the name..."

I cleared my throat. "Her dad coached Bert and me. I think I saw her a few times at the meets. A few years ago, when I was just getting started, her dad bought one of my sculptures for her." I paused before adding, "It might have been for her sister though."

"I didn't see her sister," Delia remarked, shooting an anxious glance at Lucy as she gurgled unhappily.

I paused, having realized something. "Come to think of it," I began slowly. "I didn't see her dad."

My aunt shrugged. "Maybe the two went somewhere together," she offered. "Or maybe they got divorced."

"Maybe," was all I said.

Delia suddenly smiled. "I remember when you two used to run together," she declared, her eyes glazing over in memory. "Bert would always get so jealous that you were faster," she said. "And you would always try to help him and tell him what a good runner he was." She laughed. "Ever the caring brother."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "If I was a good brother, I wouldn't have let him buy that old ambulance."

Delia laughed and waved her hand. "Nonsense," she said. "He loves that thing."

I scowled. "He's not going to love it when it breaks down in the middle of nowhere. And I won't be when I have to go get him."

She smiled and shook her head. "Oh, Wes."

I was just about to grab my keys and leave when I heard a ridiculously familiar sound echoed from outside: the _thunk_ of yet another victim falling prey to the Hole.

"Oh God," I groaned, and headed out the door to help. The summer air was dry, and I squinted anxiously at the poor car that was lopsided into the hole, hoping nobody was hurt. It might have been Macy, but I didn't figure she would get here so fast.

"Whatever you do," I said as I got closer, "don't try and reverse out of it. That only makes it worse..." I trailed off as I reached the driver's side of the car at last. Sure enough, it was Macy, but that's not what surprised me.

I'd seen her in the lamp light late at night, but now, I was actually looking at her in the sunlight, and I realized the night didn't do her justice at all.

She had that timid, in-your-dreams kind of beauty. The girl-next-door look that kept you up at night, thinking about how there's no way in hell a guy could ever get her. The kind of beauty that you don't truly notice at first, but when you do, you _really_ notice...Like I was doing now.

"Hey," I breathed, trying to look more casual.

"Hi," she began sheepishly, obviously embarrassed with her predicament. "I'm, um-"

"Stuck." I knelt down to take a look at how badly she was stuck. The tire was pretty jammed in there, and I shook my head, denouncing Delia's unfathomable love for this stupid hole.

I looked back up and swallowed, finding myself face-to-face with the girl I'd spent a nice amount of time gawking at. Her grey eyes were startlingly deep, a pool of secrets locked away in an attempt to conceal them from the world. It worked, for I had no idea what the emotions beneath them could be.

I cleared my throat. "Yup," I began. "You're in there, all right."

"I was warned, too." She sighed, obviously reluctant to have shared this piece of information. "I just saw that sculpture, and I got distracted."

I had to stand up; it wasn't easy to listen to her when I was gaping at her face. "The sculpture?" I replied, trying to make sense of her words. I looked at it, the sentence finally falling together, and back to her. "Oh, right." It was a bigger replica of the sculpture her dad had purchased, so it must have been for her. "Because you know it."

Her brow furrowed in obvious confusion. "What?"

I looked at her. Even if her sister had gotten it, she would have recognized it, right? Unless she just didn't remember it...Ouch.

I shook my head. "Nothing," I replied lamely. "I just thought maybe, um, you'd seen it before, or something," I stumbled. " There are a few around town." I made a note to kick myself later.

She looked back at the sculpture, and I wanted to think that there was subtle admiration in her eyes. I couldn't understand why her opinion of it mattered to me. "No, I haven't," she finally answered, her head cocking slightly to the side as she continued to look at it. "It's amazing, though."

I smiled genuinely in response and opened my mouth to reply, but Delia chose the moment to come outside.

"Macy? Is that you?" she yelled. "Oh, God, I forgot to tell you about the hole. Hold on, we'll get you out." I rolled my eyes. By _we, _she meant_ me_. "I'm such an idiot. Just let me call Wes."

"I'm on it," I called back to her. I turned back to this Macy. "Hold tight. I'll be back in a second."

I went through the process of getting her out. It was like second-nature to me, fishing people out of the Hole, considering how much I had to do it. The last step was usually listening to the people argue at me, as if I had any say in filling the hole up.

I got out of my truck, and untied the rope. "You're fine now," I said, loud enough for her to be able to hear me. "Just keep to the left. _Way_ left."

She stuck her head out the window as I began tying the rope in on itself. "Thank you," she said, sincerely grateful. There was one I hadn't heard before. "Really."

"No problem," I responded, a little taken aback. "I do it all the time," I continued. "Just pulled out the FedEx guy yesterday." I sighed and shook my head, tossing the rope into the truck bed and recalled the purple color of the man's face. "He was not happy."

Macy smiled slightly, glancing down at the carnivorous hole. "It's a big hole."

"It's a monster. We need to fill it, but we never will." I shot a glare at Delia, who was sitting contentedly on the porch steps, but she only smiled and got up to head towards us.

"Why not?" Macy asked, and I could tell how simple the solution was to her, as if she didn't have an insane aunt hellbent on scattering difficulties throughout life.

I wondered if I had time to say this aloud before Delia could hear me..."It's a family thing," I responded instead, knowing I couldn't get away with it. I sighed. "Some people believe everything happens for a reason. Even massive holes."

She looked at me, a slight smile on her lips. "But you don't."

"Nope." I pulled my eyes off of her face in favor of studying the hole. Would I have been happier if Macy hadn't fallen into the Hole, and we'd never had this little encounter? I sighed under my breath, trying to sweep this little infatuation under the carpet before it could get me into trouble. It would definitely not be a good idea to stick around, then.

I looked back to her. "Anyway," I said. "I'll see you around."

"Thanks again."

I nodded absent-mindedly. "No problem. Just remember: left."

""Way left," she responded, and I smiled, nodding again. I jingled the keys in my hand and tapped on her bumper as I passed to climb back into the truck. I was going to get out of here before I changed my mind.


	5. Chapter 5

1**Here's Chapter Five! Thanks for all those readers who are bearing with me here. I really appreciate it.** **This chapter is my first real free-handed one, so you've gotta tell me what you think. I hope you enjoy! **

An hour or so later, I pulled into an old dirt driveway. It snaked up steep, stopping in front of a tattered one-story house. The area itself was only slightly sketchy, but the house made it look a little worse. The windows were too dark to see anything through, and weeds lined the pitiful porch where a garden should be.

I cut the engine and sat there, just staring at the sad house. Had I not gotten back on the right track, I knew this is the kind of place I'd be sporting in the future...If I wasn't locked up, that is. Sometimes, I felt like my mom sacrificed herself to keep me from going down the wrong road. I hated thinking that, despite the fact that it had worked. With that thought in my mind, guilt followed me like a lovesick puppy.

Guilt seemed to seep into everyone's lives, though. Bert felt it was his fault because he figured he should have been stronger for her. He never said this aloud, but I knew him too well to think anything else. He fought for composure and independence now more than anything.

I sighed, not even bothering to battle the morose feeling developing in the pit of my stomach, and got out of the car. The dirt crunched under my shoes as I turned to slam the door shut. The ripped screen door opened just as I was stepping around my truck, and Mark trudged down the steps, a beer in one hand.

"Wes," he said in greeting, coming to meet me in the middle of the driveway.

"Hey, man," I replied, looking him over. He had an oil-stained wife beater on, and hadn't shaved for a week, give or take. I grinned. "You clean up nicely."

He laughed, punching me lightly in the arm. "Screw you, man," he said, turning around and heading towards the garage. I caught up to him in a few paces. "You want a beer?"

I shook my head. "Pass."

"Good," he said. "'Cause I think I drank my last case this morning."

My eyebrows raised, but I didn't say anything in response. I honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not, and that depressed me.

Mark and I had been friends since junior high. We started off as good kids, boasting good grades and decent friends. A little after we got situated in high school, Mark fell in with the wrong crowd, and he pulled me in with him. It started out with the "innocent" bad things: cigarettes and a little drinking here and there. But those bad things turned on us like one big rabid dog, and, before we knew it, we were drinking every night and passing out, doing all kings of drugs, and pulling pranks that earned some of the guys a few nights in jail. Mark and I were good kids together, until we went bad together. Only difference was that I pulled myself out.

Or my mom did, at least.

"I scraped another box together, if you want to take a look at it," he said, pulling open the garage door all the way once we reached it. He took another swig of his beer as he scanned the mess that was his garage. A couch and a lawn chair were angled around cardboard box that acted as a coffee table, and the grotesquely sweet smell of pot mingled with the stinging scent of alcohol, creating a bitter combination that burned my nose.

"Ah, there they are." I followed Mark to the back left corner, where he pulled a box off of a shelf and handed it to me. I set it on the coffee table and started looking through it.

"Where do you get this stuff?" I asked, rubbing my palm against a silver-plated piece of metal. "Some of it's too nice to scrounge up from the landfill." I stole a glance at him, wondering if he was still stealing.

Mark snorted "You'd be surprised," he said. "There are a lot of dumb people who'll throw out the nicest shit."

I nodded, pulling my hands out of the dusty box. "I'll take this one." He nodded wordlessly and handed me a second, smaller box.

"I don't see you much anymore, Wes," Mark said from behind me.

"Maybe because you moved so far away."

He snorted again. "You know what I mean," he huffed. "We used to be best buds, you know?"

I turned to face him. "I know," I said, looking at my old friend. "But..." I took a breath and exhaled, wondering how to put it. "I just...I can't go back to where I was, Mark. I really was out of it before my mom died."

He nodded. "I get it, man. We just had a lot of fun together, you know?"

I didn't respond, but pulled out my wallet and started thumbing out some bills. "I'll take the second box, too."

He smiled and took my offered cash. "You're my best customer."

"I'm your _only_ customer," I replied with a laugh, picking up the heavier box. Mark chuckled, set his beer down, and grabbed the smaller one, and together we headed back to my truck to load them into the bed.

"So come back again soon," Mark said, shutting the truck bed. "I'd hate to think you were just coming up here for business."

I gave him a look. "You think I drive an hour up here just for a few boxes of junk?"

He grinned. "True."

"I'd stay," I began, opening the door. "But Delia needs me at a catering job tonight."

"'S cool," Mark drawled. "I gotta party tonight anyway."

He shut my door, and I looked at him through the open window. "Just be careful, 'kay?"

He rolled his eyes. "Alright, Mom. I'll be home by curfew."

I laughed and shook my head, jamming the keys into the ignition. "You're such a jerk sometimes," I joked.

He smirked, backing away from the truck. "I am," he agreed. "I'll see you sometime."

"Bye, Mark," I said, throwing the truck into reverse.

I pulled out of the driveway, watching Mark disappear behind the hill. As soon as I got off the dirt and back onto the road-the house out of sight- the weighted feeling in the pit of my stomach evaporated immediately, and I let out a sigh of what felt like relief.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry, I take forever to upload, but it feels really weird writing this. And I'm really sorry if they're so short, because it seems a lot longer when I type it. Not that I don't have fun writing it! Honestly, tell me if I get too carried away. I'll make the next one longer, now that we're getting into the actual story :P**

It was inevitable that Macy became a true, reliable Wish employee. Not that Delia locked a collar around her neck and chained her to the van, but it was experience that brought me to believe all human beings have a craving for excitement. If they could, they'd stand on the edge of a knife all day just for the thrill of the idea of falling at any moment.

That's how I viewed catering for my aunt's business. We were constantly balanced on the edge of a knife that was bound to fall several times during a job. I figured Macy had come back because she'd tasted the thrill of the catering business, and she couldn't wash that taste out.

Though, figuratively speaking, I received a nice slap in the face at least once every job, it sure as hell beat a boring job at, say, the library.

Despite all of this knowledge concerning the human addiction to excitement, I was still surprised to see her at the next gig we worked the following week. I had driven separately, so I came across her as she was helping the others unload the van. Kristy had called to tell Delia she was sick (Kristy Code for "I have a date") with the stomach flu ("with a totally gorgeous foreign guy"), so she was unable to make it. Whenever someone had been unable to show before, we'd be in a tight spot, a situation that required everyone to haul ass.

Now, though, we had Macy. We could afford one man down.

I was walking up to the van, and she was digging in the back of the van to pull out the heavy crock pot. She turned around, but I was too close, and I received the crock pot right in my gut.

Her eyes were startled when they landed on mine. "Oh, sorry!" she said, trying to side shuffle out of the tight spot.

I laughed, trying to regain my breath after having it knocked out of me by the culinary equiptment. "It's fine," I said, taking hold of the heavy crock pot. "I'll take this."

"Oh," she said, looking a little taken aback. "Thanks."

"Wes!" came Delia's voice from the doorway. It was a frantic tone, yet a low one. She didn't want to alarm our employers. It was a voice I knew all too well. "Tell me you brought the sausages!"

And I was swept up in the Wish business just like that.

It was a bot-mitzvah, and I was spending the majority of my time trying to deter the bot-mitzvee. The thirteen year old was surprisingly bold, but all of the onlookers found it cute.

I had an audience who found it cute that their underage thirteen year old girl was making a pass at a much older guy at the bar he was tending. Wonderful.

Safe to say, I was not at all depressed to be relieved of my job temporarily while the actual ceremony took place. Delia had swept me into the kitchen within two seconds. She threw me in line next to Macy as Monica exited with a tray full of finger sandwiches.

"You two," she said in commando mode. "I want you to use up the rest of the rolls and chicken salad to make all the finger sandwiches you can before that ceremony ends, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," I said, resisting the urge to salute her. Macy nodded, probably wondering if Delia was going to whip out a gun and hold it to her head if she refused.

Delia nodded once, grabbed a tray identical to Monica's, and strode out of the kitchen.

Macy turned to the counter and began doing as she'd been told. I shuffled up to the counter and began doing the same after a moment's hesitation.

"That's called stalling around here," I said to her.

She looked up at me, clearly confused. "What?"

I jerked my head back to the door. "She and Monica are going to serve those sandwiches as slowly as they can," I said. "Because those are the last trays of the sandwiches. As long as they're out there with food on their trays, our employers are happy. So they're going to stall until we can scrounge up a few more trays."

She looked back down at her work, already completely her second one. I saw her smiling slightly. "That's interesting."

I shrugged. "I thought you should know the tricks of the trade."

She looked back up at me. "Anything else I should know, then?"

I smiled broadly, reaching across her to pull the bowl of chicken salad between us. "Loads."

"Care to fill me in?" she pressed, and I could sense the true curiosity behind her collected voice.

"Monica," I began. "Doesn't dislike you." Her eyebrows raised at my straightforwardness. "She has communication issues," I explained lightly, checking the door in case it swung open to reveal an eavesdropping Monotone. "So you can't really get any emotion out of her. We call her Monotone."

"How endearing," she murmured, and I chuckled.

"Kristy," I continued. "Is not as superficial as she seems. She's pretty observant, and she's bright. So don't try and pull the wool over her eyes." She looked up at me sharply. "Not that I think you would," I added quickly. "She and Monica are sisters, if you didn't catch that one."

She looked at me once more, pausing for the first time in her sandwich-making. "No way."

"Yes way," I replied. Kristy and Monica weren't exactly alike. "Bert's my brother. He's a little eccentric, and it might take you a while to get used to him. Please, _please_ humor him if he starts talking to you about the apocalypse. I am begging you."

She laughed, nodding her head as she resumed her work. "Alright."

"But he's a really good guy," I added. "Now Delia is pregnant," I said, as though she hadn't figured this one out. "So anything she does or says to you is not necessarily her fault, but the antichrist inside of her."

"Antichrist?" she asked. "Wouldn't that be your cousin?"

"Yes. But Lucy is mischief at its finest, so I can't imagine this one turning out any different."

She turned and looked at Lucy slumbering in the car seat we brought inside, then she turned to me to give me a doubtful look.

"Don't be deceived," I said in a low voice. "You want to know that kid's favorite game?"

"Candy Land?"

"'Let's Plant Suspicious Articles of Clothing to Try and End Marriages.'"

She looked at me for a moment longer, before bursting into a short bout of laughter. I watched her laugh for a moment with a smile on my own face, enjoying the lightness and freedom in it, a lightness and freedom that didn't seem to match up with her voice and eyes all the time.

"It's true," I said, both of us returning to work.

She nodded, unconvinced but still smiling. "Whatever you say."

We were quiet for a little longer, a time during which Bert and Monica both reentered to fill their trays lightly, spreading them out on the surfaces to make them seem more filled. Macy eyed this technique observantly, and I suddenly had no doubt in my mind she would do just fine in the catering business.

Delia wouldn't return for a while. She was the master of stalling.

They both re-exited, and a comfortable silence fell between us. I eyed the clock, wondering when I was due back at the bar. Probably whenever I heard the commotion of clapping and "Mazel tovs!" echoing outside.

"So what about you?" she asked suddenly, glancing up at me briefly.

"What about me?"

"Well," she began. "You told me about all my other new co-workers. What about you?"

"Oh," I said. I shrugged after a moment. "Well, I'm..."

She watched me expectantly.

"I'm irresistible, more or less," I said with a cocky smile.

She rolled her eyes, twinkling with amusement. "Let's go with 'less'," she muttered.

"What was that?" I asked, having heard her well and clear.

"I said, 'Look at this mess.'" Ah, so she was clever as well.

"Uh-huh," I replied, bumping her with my shoulder. She stiffened at the contact, but her smile didn't falter.

The night dragged on, and I was happy to find that, after I had left my sandwich station to return to my bartending obligation, the girl who had become randomly smitten with me was receiving enough attention to keep her satisfaction at bay, and also enough to keep a physical barrier between herself and the bar. It was a nice relief, yet I still would have preferred to be back in the much quieter, more interesting kitchen.

As we were loading back up the van, everyone was quiet with exhaustion.

Well, everyone except for Bert.

"So you should invest in a, ah, bomb shelter, I guess you could call it, and a hefty supply of water and nonperishables," Bert was telling Macy.

"I'll definitely look into it," Macy said.

She caught my eye and we shared a knowing smile.

**Hope you enjoyed it, more or less! Hope to update soon**


	7. Chapter 7

1

**Alright all, here it is. I hope I made it long enough to make up for my problematic lack of updating. Thanks to all readers and reviewers! It means a lot that you're all sticking with me. Any mistakes in here let me know!! Oh and all belongs to Sarah Dessen :P**

**I'm willing to bet that a lot of people are going to see Harry Potter!! Hope it's awesome and have fun!**

That same night, I lay awake in my bed, my arms folded behind my head as I tried to sleep. I listened to the thunder rolling in the distance, preceded by flashes of blue lightning. They flashed across the sky like jagged cobras, illuminating the land in a way neither the sun nor the moon was capable of. Sometimes the only true artist was Nature herself.

I'd thrown my window wide open, preferring the cool, pre-storm breeze over the whirring of the air-conditioner. My mother had always done the same thing, and I never could forget the sound of rain coming from her room, just across my own, always mingled with the sounds of Bert's raucous snoring on the other side of the wall. It had been a kind of lullaby to me, once upon a time.

Suddenly, my phone lit up and skidded around my nightstand. I watched its mad vibrating dance for a few seconds before snatching it up and sighing. I knew who it was, even if the number was unknown to me. Only one person called at three in morning.

"Did I wake you?" Becky whispered, unprompted. I pulled a hand through my hair.

"No. Whose phone are you using this time?"

She snorted quietly, and I knew her roommate-like everyone else in the world-was fast asleep. "Dr. Bloodgood's. That crazy bitch."

It took me a moment to find the meaning (and irony) in the name. "Your shrink," I said flatly. _I should just hang up on her_, I thought to myself, as I always did when she pulled this little stunt. By talking to her, I was just encouraging her to steal (or borrow, as she put it) from the people who were only trying to help her. But I never could bring myself to hang up.

She had never hung up on me.

"Don't give me this shit, Wes. I get enough of it here. I'm going fucking crazy in here, you know? I just wanted to hear you. I miss you."

I rubbed a hand over my face as I stood to look out the window. Another flash of lightning cut open the sky, highlighting all the smallest details of farm and forest around this old house.

"I miss you too," I said, because it was true. I opened my mouth to say more, but she cut me off.

"Jesus Christ, do you hear that? My fucking roommate snores like a goddamn bear. I swear I'm going to smother her with a damn pillow...She'd probably be thankful."

"Beck..."I began disapprovingly.

"Oh lighten up, Wes, Jesus. I was kidding. You're no freaking fun anymore." A burst of thunder erupted, and I flinched. "Don't worry, babe. I get out of here soon. I'll restore the old you in no time." Her voice had gotten low and sensual, but it had no effect on me with the sentence she was forming with it. "It'll be just like old times...Oh shit! I gotta go."

And then dead silence filled my ear with a click. I couldn't help the relief that seeped through me to the very core.

I loved Becky, I really did. But there was no denying that, while the girl I had fallen for had never changed, I had. We'd been the same people during the darker stages of my life, but I liked to believe that I had done some serious growing up, and I was simply waiting for her to do the same.

It was getting harder and harder for me to bear her crude, judgmental ways of talking, to watch her hurt the people who loved her and wanted the best for her, because I knew that she should be relinquishing these habits as she got closer to her departure from rehab. Every time she called me, I hoped that she would have changed for the better in some small, subtle way. But she was always static.

I wait several more minutes in case she called again, but she never did. So I rested back against the mattress, and closed my eyes.

And then it started to rain.

The phone call kept me distracted for the next few days, so I poured into some sculptures I'd been planning for a while. The parts I'd bought from Mark-even the pity parts that I didn't think I'd ever use-might as well have been a gold mine.

I worked in a small garage-like barn on the other side of the driveway, the Hole in plain sight. This was good, since I could keep an eye out for victims while I worked.

Delia came in one day with a tray of lemonade and a sandwich. I lifted my foot off the gas, turning the torch off, and lifted off my welding visor. She glanced helplessly around the cluttered workspace briefly before balancing the tray precariously on the sawhorse.

"I thought you could use some sustenance," she told me, coming to look at what I was working on. "You've been at this since nine." She came to look at the piece I was working on: an angel.

I stretched my arms back, hearing my back crack in several spots. "What time is it?" I asked, grabbing the glass of lemonade off of the tray and pouring it down my throat in big gulps. Delia's lemonade was all sugar, and I had to work to keep my face from scrunching.

"Three," Delia replied, poking the tip of one of the many nails I'd been spent welding to the top of the sculpture's head. "This is just beautiful, Wes. Going for the Medusa look?"

I shrugged, looking on as she continued examining my work. Maybe with anyone else, I'd be a little uneasy. But I never feared Delia's criticism. She just had that way of phrasing everything to soften the blow.

"Have you managed to find a place to sell at?"

I shook my head. "I'm working on it."

Delia walked back around to me, leaning against a wall. "So listen...I know something's been distracting you, Wes, and I also know you don't like to be bothered when you're distracted...But there is a huge party tonight that just called us in at the last minute, and I really need all the help I can get."

I sighed and ran a hand over my face in faux exasperation. "You know Delia...If you hadn't taken me and my brother in, provided us with food and a place to sleep, and helped us grow up..."

I trailed off, because she already knew my answer and was smiling. "I knew I could count on you. She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, trying her best to wrap her arms around me with her gargantuan belly proving to be such an obstacle. "And I hope that whatever's been bothering you eases up a bit." She gave me a knowing look before saying, "Or whoever."

"Thanks," I replied, a little hesitantly.

Delia pulled back and said, "We've got to be there by six. Now I'm going to go and get everything together."

"Everything minus one," I replied, a trademark Wish inside joke.

She snorted, said, "Or three" and began her waddle back to the house.

Delia didn't like Becky. Actually, none of my fellow Wish employees did. And it wasn't just a Wow-Wes-you-know-you-could-do-better kind of hate; it was more of a Wow-Wes-you-know-you-could-do-better-hang-tight-while-I-go-light-a-torch-and-sharpen-a-pitchfork kind. Just a little more intense. But if anyone hated Becky the most, it was Kristy. Kristy was the poster girl for the Die, Becky, Die fan club.

Though I'd never say it out loud, it was hard on me, not having any support when I was becoming so doubtful myself concerning the subject of our relationship. Just for once, it'd be nice to hear that I wasn't doing wrong by dating Becky. It was extremely difficult to bear the fact that the people closest to me didn't approve of her, of us. I'll admit that I wasn't much of a talker, but everyone needs to vent their troubles out eventually, or else things start hurting inside. But the second I spoke a word shedding light on my problems with Becky, my family went for the jugular without even listening, and that was just short of painful.

With this Becky-induced distraction on my hands, I was six shades of useless. I found myself constantly falling easy prey to gobblers, and that was before I almost set a potful of meatballs on fire (which is just downright impossible). It wasn't until I was one beat away from handing off a rum and coke to an eleven year old that Delia came up behind me and ushered me out from behind the bar.

"How about you go help Macy set up some trays, Wes?" she suggested, smiling nervously at the kid, still waiting for her non-alcoholic beverage. Then, in a hushed voice, "Preferably before we have a lawsuit on our hands?"

I trudged on in to the kitchen, where I found Macy bent over the counter, arranging some freshly made mushroom puffs neatly on a tray. I saw several trays with a dozen mini quiches arranged in smiley faces, and I looked around, wondering where Kristy had gone.

I pulled out a sheet of warm crab cakes from the oven and set them next to Macy, beginning my work. Other than a quick glance at the tray of cakes, she didn't acknowledge my presence.

After a few minutes of silence, I looked over at her, finding her brow furrowed as she focused on the mushroom puffs. "You seem to be concentrating awfully hard," I noted.

She spared me a quick glance before returning to her work, and I suppressed a sigh. However, after about a minute, she turned her whole body to me in one flash of movement and asked in a huff, "Do you know who Anna Akhmatova is?"

"Anna Akhmawhat?"

"Anna Akhmatova. She's some Ukrainian poet born in the nineteenth century."

I paused, as though I had to rack my brain for this information. "Oh yeah, her. Of course I know her," I said sarcastically. She gave me a look, so I just grinned. She went back to work. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, setting the finished tray over by one of Kristy's smiley face trays and grabbing a clean one. "I was just making sure I wasn't the only one, since, apparently, _everyone_ knows her."

I laughed, nodding at Monotone as she plodded into the kitchen to leave her empty tray in favor of two full ones. She kicked open the door and left without a word. "According to who?"

"These two girls I work with at the library."

I looked at her, pausing in my finger food arrangement, which, I had to admit, was turning out nicely. "You work at the library?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Sort of. My boyfriend asked me to fill in for him while he was away."

I was both shocked and relieved when I heard this. Shocked because my stomach had dropped when I heard "boyfriend"; relieved when I heard that he wasn't in town.

I could have kicked myself.

First of all, of course a girl like Macy would have a boyfriend. It was unavoidable. Second, it wouldn't matter if the guy was in space. No matter how far away he was, he was still in the picture. And third, I had Becky.

I came back to reality as I heard Macy's clear voice saying, "Anyways, they were acting like it was a federal offense for me to not know who the heck she was."

"You should be shot," I said critically. She looked up at me and smiled, her sad, grey eyes twinkling with amusement. The word "boyfriend" hit me like a train again. I cleared my throat when she looked back down and said, "You'd make a great librarian."

She looked up at me, beyond bewildered, and I burst out laughing. "What on earth is that supposed to me?" she asked, offended.

"I didn't mean anything by it," I said, still laughing.

"Then _why_ are you _laughing_?" she demanded.

I held the counter for support as I struggled to breath. "Your face."

"Wes!" she exclaimed, her cheeks turning attractively red. It was the first time she'd actually said my name, and I was shocked again to realize that I noticed this.

"I'm sorry," I said, regaining composure. "Your expression was priceless. I was talking about your personality, not some porno fantasy if that's what you were thinking."

"I was definitely not thinking that," she said, shooting me a death glare. "What do you mean, 'my personality'?" She picked up the knife to begin chopping off stray strands of parsley from some mini quiches.

"You just seem to kind of keep to yourself," I replied offhandedly. "It's not a bad thing," I added quickly.

"Yeah well-"

Bert burst into the kitchen just then with an empty tray, his face one shade short of purple. He shoved his empty tray onto the counter by Macy, and I could have sworn she flinched and maybe gasped, but I didn't have time to process this as the Bert Bomb exploded.

"Some _moron _out there was trying to tell me that the world would be overrun by aliens before the ozone layer disintegrated! _Aliens_, Wes! _Aliens!_ How _absurd_!"

I looked at my brother sharply. "Bert," I began sternly. "You are not supposed to be arguing with the clients, remember? You're supposed to be _invisible_, Bert. _Invisible!_"

He grabbed a tray of mushroom puffs, grumbling to himself, and stomped out of the kitchen.

Shaking my head, I looked over at Macy, who was washing her hands at the sink with her back turned, before turning back my next tray. "He's so- " But I stopped as I noticed something red out of my peripheral vision. Looking quickly over at Macy's workspace, I saw several drops of blood, and a streak of red along the edge of the knife.

I let the quiche I was holding fall to the floor and was over by Macy in a second. "Holy _shit_, Macy!" I exclaimed, seeing the pretty gory cut on the palm of her hand, running pink with blood and water under the faucet. "Are you okay?!"

"Yeah, it's fine," she replied faintly.

"Oh, Jesus," I said, looking at her face. It was pale, and a little clammy. "Give me your hand." I turned the water off and gently picked her hand out of it, drying it as best I could with one of Delia's dish towels. I tore two paper towels from the roll next to the sink and folded them into a rectangle. "Squeeze this, okay?"

She did so wordlessly and I led her over to one of the four chairs. "Just sit tight while I grab some stuff from the van, alright? And keep your hand palm up on the table." I started out of the kitchen. "And keep squeezing!" I called over my shoulder.

I ran out the back door, receiving many strange looks from our clients. I'm sure what with Bert's debates and my little relays (and probably Kristy's foot-stomping) we weren't going to get asked back again. We had a small chance, though, as long as the little eleven year old kept her mouth shut.

Once in the van I pulled out the first-aid kit Delia always kept there. My aunt might not always be prepared when it came to frozen food and utensils, but she was sure strict when it came to safety materials.

Catering was a dangerous business.

Macy was staring blankly at her hand when I returned. I pulled the chair next to her so we were knee-to-knee and went to work, opening her small hand gently with my fingers. I peeled off the red paper towels and replaced it with a sterile gauze pad.

"Tell me if I'm pressing too hard," I told her softly, looking into her calm eyes. She nodded at me.

With the roller bandage, I wrapped her hand up, hoping my rough, calloused hands didn't bother her soft skin. It didn't take the whole roll, so I cut the bandage with the scissors in the kit and pressed the material down so it would stick.

"Where'd you learn first-aid?" Macy asked quietly, and I found her watching me intently. "Are you a paramedic-in-training or something?"

I shook my head, taking an alcohol swab and wiping stray blood from her wrist. "Not quite," I said, giving her a short-lived smile. "I work with a lot of metal. Getting cut up is just part of the hobby."

She nodded knowingly. "Right," she said, and I gave her a questioning look. "Delia told me. I still can't believe you made that sculpture by your driveway. It's...it's incredible."

I smiled at her again. "Thanks. This is just going to stop the bleeding," I told her. "So you should clean it up when you get home. I couldn't see how deep it is, but if it's more than a quarter of an inch, you'll probably need stitches."

She smiled at me. "Thanks, Doctor."

I snorted, and set to work putting everything back in the kit and throwing things out. She got back on her feet, a little wobbly and started helping me. "You should probably sit down," I remarked.

"I'm fine," she replied. I gave her a look. "I don't feel bad at all, honest."

"Does it hurt at all?" I asked.

"It throbs a little," she responded. "But barely. I don't think it's that deep."

I would tell her to go home, but I didn't think she was fit for driving just yet, and I knew Delia wouldn't appreciate two of her employees ditching mid-party so that I could drive her home.

"Just hang out there," I told her. "We've got enough trays to last...I'm guessing this was Bert's fault." The flinch and the gasp; he must have pushed his empty tray into the hand she held the knife in.

She gave me a look, the corners of her lips pulling up at one end. "It was an accident."

"He's not careful."

"It was an accident, Wes," she repeated. "Don't worry about it."

I sighed, starting to clean up the rest of the kitchen. "Yes ma'am."

She smiled at me again.

I had almost 1) achieved the impossible Meatball Inferno, 2) emptied out our food supply to the infamous gobblers, and 3) caused a kid to go from an eleven year old girl with pink bows in her hair to an inebriated eleven year old with pink bows in hair in a matter of seconds. But the moment I started talking to Macy, I'd managed to finish several trays successfully. Sure, putting food on a platter isn't exactly rocket science, but then again neither is handing a regular coke off.

Maybe it was the fact that she didn't talk about a nursery, or the apocalypse, or extraordinary boys, or say "Mmm-hmm" or "Donneven" in unusually large quantities during conversation, but I found Macy's presence both intriguing and soothing at the same time.

I hadn't thought about the conversation I'd had with Becky since Delia had kicked me into the kitchen.

**Alright, so I guess it seemed a lot longer as I was writing it...So my bad if it's not satisfyingly long enough. I plan to continue from this point in the next chapter. Hope you like it!!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Wow, so I realize it's been like forty years, and for that I apologize. I really have no excuse except that I am super lazy, but I'll try to be better this summer, deal? I hope you enjoy this! I hope it's not too dry; I'm trying to set some side stories up, and that's never fun. But if you like it/hate it, let me know pleease! And thanks for reading!**

As soon as Delia found out about the knife incident, she and Kristy fussed over Macy so much that I started feeling guilty that all I'd done was stop the bleeding. Before I could say what happened, Macy told the women that she'd cut herself through a slip of the hand, leaving Bert completely out of the picture. When I opened my mouth, she shot me a glare with those powerful eyes and my jaw snapped shut. Delia had Kristy and I clean the blood up with some bleach while Bert dumped the food that had been close to the accident. Macy puttered around the kitchen helplessly, since Delia forbade her from doing anything. I could tell she felt useless, and that she didn't like it, but she did look a little wan. All of us shot nervous glances at the door, hoping our current employer wouldn't walk in to find his kitchen had become the set of a horror movie.

I loaded the last of the supplies into Delia's van, trying to tune out Kristy's late-night rambling.

"So I failed history. But who cares anyways? Do you know how much history class is going to suck in, like, a thousand years?"

Bert snorted patronizingly. "You really think we'll be alive in a thousand years?"

"Oh, for the love of God," Kristy said, walking away, but Bert followed her like a little terrier nipping at her ankles.

"Even if we were," he was saying his voice fading with the distance even as it rose in volume. "They'd probably develop some device that would ingrain the knowledge into…."

I leaned back against the catering van, watching Delia talk to the host. A few moments later, Macy stood next to me, her arms crossed gingerly across her chest. "How's the hand?" I asked.

"If one more person asks me that, I'm going to scream," she replied exasperatedly.

I ran a hand through my hair. "I take it you don't like to be fussed over."

She opened her mouth, then shut it and shrugged. "I guess I'm just not used to it." She looked at me and smiled, her sad grey eyes an ocean of secrets. The night breeze tousled her blonde hair as she looked away, and I caught myself staring for maybe a little longer than was appropriate.

"That's too bad," I replied softly. I thought of my mom just then. How she, like Delia, would have a heart attack whenever she saw a speck of blood on Bert or me. The way she took care of us when we were sick, putting us in bed, popping in a Disney movie, and making us soup. I wanted to know what Macy meant when she said she wasn't used to being fussed over.

She cleared her throat. "Sorry if I snapped at you."

I cocked my head. "That was you snapping?"

She pulled a face. "More or less. Anyways, thank you for fixing up my hand. I really appreciate it."

I waved her off. "It was more for my benefit. I'm a sissy when it comes to blood. I'd have passed out cold if you kept bleeding."

She laughed, bumping my shoulder with hers. Kristy waltzed up just then, looking thoroughly annoyed. "I just want you to know that your freaking brother doesn't have to worry about an apocalypse because he's not even going to live long enough to die in it."

I nodded, as though this was a reasonable thing to say. "Just let him run with it. He'll tire himself out eventually," I said.

"You say that, but I have yet to see him 'tire himself out', Wes. Ever. In my life."

Monica ambled up just then, blowing the bangs out of her face. She pointed to the watch on her wrist.

"Yeah, we're going," Kristy replied to the wordless statement, pushing her hair out of her face with a hand weighed down with jewelry. "Macy, are you coming out with us?"

"I can't," the aforementioned replied, already yanking her keys out of her pocket with the good hand. Those two words seemed to always be balanced on the tip of her tongue around Kristy, and, in my opinion, they had been a bit overused this summer.

Kristy studied her for a second, perhaps gauging on how effectively she could convince the blonde. Obviously deeming it a lost cause tonight, she simply said, "Alright."

"But thanks."

"How about I drive you home?" I offered. "Bert can follow me." I knew her hand must be hurting, which couldn't be good for driving. Blood loss wasn't exactly a plus either.

She was already shaking her head, though, before I finished the second sentence. "I'll be fine, really. Thanks for the offer, but I can manage." She offered me a tired smile, as if to take out any of the "snapping" she thought had seeped into her words.

The four of us didn't move as she got in and started her car. We watched her pull out of the long driveway and drive away, waving or nodding goodbye to her. I stared after the road she left behind.

"Delia's making her give her a call when she gets home," Kristy said out loud. Though she wasn't looking at me when she said it, I could tell she was directing it towards me. Kristy acted flippant and blasé, but she was sharp and observant; a dangerous combination that could eventually get me into trouble. I nodded indifferently.

"So what are we up to tonight?" Bert asked. Monica shifted her weight to another foot, eyeing Delia's socializing with an impatient puff of air towards her bangs.

"There's a party down in Crooked Stick," Kristy said, reading a text from the little phone in her hand. The light cast a blue gleam on her face, illuminating the scars there.

Kristy was beautiful, and her scars only enhanced that. Flaws were storytellers, hints of the lives the owner leads, or has led. A person could find out a dozen things just by looking at someone. Kristy's scars spoke of trauma, her clothes shrieked her adventurous, vibrant personality, and her smile conveyed a sanguine outlook.

My mind wandered from Kristy without effort, to two pools of grey. Macy's eyes spoke of sadness, of reservation. Perhaps even tragedy. I wanted to know what kept life from them, and not just out of a greedy, burning curiosity. Within the problem lies the solution, and I found myself desperately wishing to see a twinkle in those eyes. And I found myself desperately wishing it to be myself to put it there. To do that, I had to know what was bothering her.

"Wes," Kristy was saying, looking at me oddly. I blinked, allowing reality to filter back in. "Are you coming?"

I looked up at the stars, and let out a breath before pulling my keys out. "No," I replied, to everyone's surprise. "No, I think I'll go home."

Bert sighed and climbed into the Bertmobile. Monotone slunk off to the other side of the ambulance, calling out a bored "Shotty" that was barely heard. Kristy paused for a second, studying me with a smug smirk. Then she, too, disappeared into the ambulance. And, together, the three of them disappeared into the night.

When I got home, I walked into the old barn that I used for my welding. I headed over to a counter piled high with junk, dug around for several minutes, and then found what I was looking for. With the two grey pieces of smooth, frosted seaglass clutched in my palm, I set to work on another angel. If Macy refused to leave my thoughts, then I would direct those thoughts productively.

She would be my inspiration for this one.

An obnoxiously loud noise rang in my ears the next morning. With a grunt, I slapped my hand down on my alarm clock. When it didn't turn off, I fisted my hand and started banging on the top of the device, my face still buried in my pillow. I clipped the corner of it by accident, sending it flying off of my nightstand, as well as my lamp. The pain in my hand brought me fully awake, and I came to the realization that my ringing phone had been the culprit all along.

I flipped it open grudgingly. "Hello?" I croaked, my voice half muffled since one side of my face was still buried.

"Morning, Wes. Sorry to wake you."

I froze, then swung my legs over the bed into a sitting position. "Dad."

He cleared his throat. "So, I'm going to be in town next week," he said.

Silence.

"Okay…"

Another pause. "Well, I'll be around for Fathers' Day. I was just, you know, wondering if you and Bert wanted to grab a bite to eat with me, or something. I know it's pretty early on, but I was just hoping to catch you before you made plans."

I could tell he was nervous. I pulled a hand through my hair, struggling for a response. This was new territory for the both of us, and I was caught off guard. Holiday and birthday standards were met with a detached Hallmark card, signed with a "From, Name", and sometimes money. No message, no xoxo's. Just those two words. I had seen him twice since my mother died, and I could tell it was out of some unspoken feeling of obligation that brought him to us. Bert's apocalypse would have been less surprising than this phone call right now, and probably more welcome.

I cleared my throat. "I dunno, Dad. It's a holiday, and Delia might need help catering or cooking, or something."

There was another pause, and I heard a quiet sigh. "Okay, son," he said softly. "Just let me know."

The phone clicked off. I stared at it before snapping it shut a little forcefully, frustration filtering into my being. What game was he playing at? If he thought that Fathers' Day was a holiday that applied to him, he thought wrong. That man hadn't been my father for a long time, and he knew it.

I stomped across my room and made it to the door before I turned around, picked up my abused alarm clock and lamp, and replaced them on my nightstand. Pete was at the stove, stirring something that I didn't plan on touching. Delia sat at the table, a baby magazine open but unread in front of her and her whale of a stomach. She opted to watch Pete nervously. He was a notorious cook. Notoriously awful, that is. The man could burn take out.

"Morning, Delia. Pete. Whatcha burnin'?"

He spared me a quick look over his shoulder. "Funny, Wes."

I pulled out a chair and took a seat, propping my big feet on the chair across from me. "So, my dad just called me."

Delia's eyes snapped away from the hopefully functioning fire alarm to meet mine. "What did he want?"

I shrugged. "Grab a bite to eat on Fathers' Day."

"What did you say?"

I traced patterns on the table with the tip of my finger, refusing to meet Delia's probing eyes. Everyone seemed to take different approaches to the father situation. There was Delia, who wanted me to handle it in any way I was comfortable with and gave me advice instead of personal opinions. Pete stayed out of the matter completely, but pretended he was involved by nodding at whatever Delia said. Kristy wanted me to ignore him. Monica blew bangs out of her face. Bert acted angry and indifferent but secretly wanted our father in our lives. Becky wanted me to hate him. She cursed him, talked about slashing tires, told me I was too good for a man like that and didn't need him. Her father left her when she was a kid, and didn't she turn out fine?

"I said I probably had to work," I answered, the smell of burning food tickling my nose unpleasantly.

"Oh, yeah Wes," Delia said sarcastically. "Because who doesn't have a huge party in need of catering on Fathers' Day?"

"Delia…" Pete began uneasily.

She leapt up, as though previously poised to respond to this emergency, and fluidly, expertly, simultaneously pushed Pete out of the way while grabbing the stirrer out of his hand. She fiddled with some knobs on the stove, and the burning aroma dissipated.

Pete smiled, unabashed, kissed her on the cheek, and sat down at the table with his coffee. "Thanks, hon."

"He's lucky I even cared enough to make up an excuse," I said. "I could have just outright rejected him. I wonder if he's talked to Bert."

"Bert won't go unless you do," Delia told me. "You know your brother."

I nodded, then swallowed my dignity. "What should I do?"

Delia looked at me. "It's your decision," she said. "Do whatever you're comfortable with."

I suppressed an eye roll, and wanted desperately to talk to Becky.

Macy found me in a coat closet a few days later, an expensive-looking black wrap dangling from her hand. She cocked her head and pursed her lips, her face clearly pulling a "What the hell?" expression.

"Wes?" she said, her a voice clearly pulling a "What the hell?" tone.

I put a finger to my lips and gestured her to come closer. I might have already been beating Bert, but no way was I going to miss this Gotcha! opportunity. To my surprise, she moved her small, snug body into the closet and crouched down in front of me, so that we were eye level. I could feel the heat radiating from her, and the proximity made me pleasantly uncomfortable.

No time for that, Wes, I thought to myself. It was game time, and I was going to get Bert good.

"Okay," I said, entranced by the way my breath ruffled her blonde hair. "It's all in the timing."

After a few moments, she parted her lips to say something. I quickly put my finger back to my lips, feigning the stern look a teacher would give an out-of-control student. Her pretty lips closed twitched as she suppressed a smile.

The air felt used up and hot by the time I heard Bert's pounding lumber down the hall.

"Not now…"

Macy looked apprehensive, yet excited.

"Not now…"

Bert's heavy steps were practically rattling the door.

"Not now…"

Finally, I could hear his somewhat labored breathing and muttering. "Okay," I said, my aching knees rejoicing as I stood. "Now. _Gotcha!_"

I'd seen worse from Bert. He was a twitchy fellow, always tense and tightly wound. So, needless to say, I was never disappointed with his _Gotcha!_ reaction. He shrieked, his high voice on par with Julie Andrews in the _Sound of Music. _I seriously considered that all of the champagne glasses in the dining room had shattered. Bert also managed to trip over nothing, since those flat surfaces are tricky sometimes, and fall into the wall behind him. The blood rushed to his face when he took in Macy.

He sputtered a few times. "That was-"

"Number six," I cut in with a quick grin. "By my count."

Bert used the wall to help pull himself to his feet, darting quick looks down both ends of the hallway to see if anyone else had witnessed his little tumble. He straightened himself out and brushed at his clothes. Then, "I'm going to get you so good." He pointed his finger at Macy, then me, and back at Macy, his eyes shooting nearly tangible beams of hate, and promising revenge. "Just you wait."

"Leave her out of it," I said, amused. "I was just demonstrating."

"Oh no. She's part of it now. She's one of us," he snarled, one step short of foaming at the mouth. Macy looked to be debating on whether to be amused or afraid, but I could tell the former was winning. "No more coddling for you, Macy."

"Bert, you've already jumped out at her," I reminded him.

But he ignored me. "It's _on_!" he bellowed, so loud I was sure Delia would give us a lecture about using inside voices later. I smiled as I watched my brother lumber down the hall, yank open the door to the main room, and let it shut behind him.

Macy was looking at me, her cheeks still flushed pink with the previous excitement. "Nice work," she said. We started down the hallway to the kitchen.

"It's nothing. With enough practice, you too can pull a good gotcha." Though I could hardly imagine Macy scaring anyone. She wasn't short, but she was still small. Thin, delicate. Probably the least intimidating person there was.

She laughed softly, then said, "Frankly, I'm a little curious about the derivation of all this."

My eyebrows raised on their own. "Derivation?" I repeated.

"How it started."

I snorted indignantly. "I know what it means." She looked up at me quickly, her grey eyes wide with apology. I grinned at her. "It's just such an SAT word. I'm impressed."

She looked back to the hallway and cleared her throat. "I'm working on my verbal," she explained.

I smiled, nodding at a valet named Devin that I knew from around my old school. He cut a glance at Macy, gave her the once-over, then looked back at me with raised, appreciative eyebrows before he passed.

I cleared my throat. "I can tell." I always appreciated a smart girl, and Macy seemed to be a highly intelligent and driven one. Becky was smart, but not in the way it applied to school and textbooks. She could spot a liar before one opened his or her mouth, establish connections and relationships before she set foot in a room, and say just the right thing to manipulate anyone. She was street smart. But she knew she wasn't intelligent in the way people like Macy were, and she hated that. She got angry when I used words she didn't understand, frustrated when she couldn't grasp something I was telling her, and sad when she didn't graduate. She hid the latter with a cool indifference, and refused to talk about it.

"Truthfully," I began as I realized Macy was watching me expectantly. "It's just this dumb thing we started about a year ago. It pretty much came from us living alone in the house after my mom died. It was really quiet, so it was easy to sneak around."

She nodded, although her brow was furrowed. Again, I tried to picture Macy sneaking around, jumping out at unsuspecting victims. I had to suppress a laugh. "I see," was all she said.

"Plus, there's just something fun, every once in a while, about getting the shit scared out of you. You know?"

She gave no sign of agreement this time. "Must be a guy thing," she said with a smile.

"Maybe," I replied, pushing the kitchen door open for Macy and following her in. Everyone but-thankfully-Bert was crowded in the kitchen. Kristy was munching on what looked like a biscuit, and Delia was pulling more supplies out of a container. She froze, then patted the bottom of the empty container as though it would open and reveal whatever she was looking for.

"Wait a second," she said, making my stomach drop. "Everyone freeze."

We all waited apprehensively. Please be something insignificant, I thought to myself.

"Where," Delia said, doing a slow three-sixty around the room. "Are the hams?"

**Next chapter up hopefully before the world actually ends. Thanks for sticking with me!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the wait…again. I had a snow day today; they're calling it the "Snowpocalypse". Creative, huh? So I figured I would take the time to do a little update. I loved this chapter! I'm not sure I did a great job though, so reviews are always welcome and, of course, boost my motivation :P. Hope this is long enough to keep you satisfied! Thanks for reading/sticking with me!**

Becky called me that night. I didn't ask where she got the cell phone this time and, surprisingly, she didn't offer up the information. It was late, around three in the morning, but I was incapable of pulling myself away from my work until my cell rang. I barely heard it over the loud welding torch, but I clicked it off as soon as the ringing registered in my ears and pulled off my mask.

"Hey hottie," came her sultry voice.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, where locks of my hair were sticking to the skin. "Hey Beck's. This is a surprise. Is something wrong?"

I heard her fill her cheeks with air before blowing it out noisily. "No more than usual," she said. She started laughing. "One of the girl's gotta couple joints today. We're gonna have a little fun tomorrow before group therapy."

I rubbed my hand over my face in frustration. "Don't you think that's a bad idea?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. "They're trained to catch that stuff Becky. They're not stupid."

"Are you saying I am?" she replied defensively.

"You know I don't think you're stupid. But they're trying to help you. Why don't you just let them?"

"Hey screw you, Wes," Becky snarled. "I don't need their goddamn help, okay? So don't give me any shit."

We were both silent for a while as we calmed down. An owl hooted right outside the barn, and the sound of singing crickets and other insects was suddenly absurdly loud. I leaned back against one of my work shelves, and the cool breeze from a window lapped at the back of my sweaty neck. It felt good.

"My dad called today," I said. It was a way to change the subject, since there was nothing that Becky loved more than a good ole rant about how shitty my dad was. But I also wanted her opinion. Despite the fact I knew what that would be, it was good to hear it, that I wasn't in the wrong to turn him down. My dad was the bad guy, and Becky reinforced that.

"What'd he want?" she asked quietly, the venom gone from her voice.

I picked up a piece of sea glass I had yet to use, twirling it between my fingers. "To meet him for lunch on Fathers' Day."

She snorted. "Please tell me you told him to go to hell."

I cleared my throat. "I told him I'd call him back."

"Are you kidding me? Wes, come on. You don't owe him shit. He's probably bored with his bullshit life and wants to spice it up with his long lost kids that he left in the dust."

I set the piece of glass down and stepped over to my work as Becky went on her rant. I'd heard it all before, and it suddenly wasn't what I wanted to hear. I walked around the angel with the grey eyes as she went on and on. I had thought listening to this would help me, make me feel better. But it didn't, and I suddenly wasn't sure what I needed to hear.

After a few more minutes, I did something I had never done before: I told Becky I had to go and hung up.

We were catering for a bridal shower a few nights later hosted in a very lumberjack-friendly, woodsy cabin. It was all good and fine, it was a fairly small cabin, so we only needed a couple people out running the floor with trays at a time. Macy and I were standing side-by-side, putting together finger sandwiches on napkins that said "Love is eternal". The whole shower was designed with this motto, with heart balloons and heart-shaped foods and little love sayings scattered in places you were forced to look at. I had come to the conclusion that this party was designed to make any single woman want to kill herself or overdose on Prozac.

I was thinking about my father and, consequently, Bert. Delia and Pete hadn't said a word to the latter, for which I was grateful. Again, I wondered why he hadn't tried to contact my brother. He must have known that it was only my answer that mattered, that Bert would only do what I decided.

"Are you okay?" came Macy's soft voice from my left. I looked at her, surprised. "You seem to be deep in thought."

I shrugged. "I guess," was all I said. She nodded, and I could see a couple locks of her blonde hair fall free of her ponytail. She blew them out of her face, concentrating on the sandwiches.

I cleared my throat. I wasn't the type to pass around my problems for everyone to hear. Usually the only people that heard of it consisted of Becky, Pete, and Delia. But Macy's unobtrusiveness made me want to talk to her about it, and she was smart, I was certain of that, so maybe she could help me out. "It's just, my dad called me yesterday," I started awkwardly. "He's been kind of out of our lives for a while now. Kind of bailed when my mom got sick."

It was quiet while Macy nodded her head in subdued sympathy, which I appreciated more than verbal pity. "What did he want?" she probed gently.

"To see if Bert and I would go out for lunch with him on Father's Day. He's going to be in town next week."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'd get back to him."

I turned and watched her, leaning back against the counter as she made sandwiches and looked thoughtful.

"I can see why you wouldn't want to go," she said finally. "But it sounds to me like the answer's not so simple to you cause part of you wants to go and try to make things right."

I nodded, surprised that she had nailed it. "I just don't know if I can give him the satisfaction of going out with him on Father's Day, you know? I mean, it's kind of saying that what he did has been forgotten."

"Then don't take him out on Father's Day," she stated, wiping her hands off as she turned to look at me. "Take him out on a different day. That way, you're not giving him that satisfaction, but you'll make it known that you want to meet him halfway more or less."

I paused to think of this compromise. "You think so?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Family's important, Wes. He's your dad. You should make things right with him before he's…before it's too late. But it wouldn't be unfair of you to ask him to pay a little for what he did."

Again, her grey eyes looked turbulent and sad, and I knew somehow that it had been my fault. "Thanks, Macy," I said sincerely, appraising her in a new light. "I appreciate it."

She looked up quickly and gave me a half smile before going back to work on the finger sandwiches. I watched her for a few more moments before joining her.

The five of us were just finishing cleaning up while Delia got her (our) money. It was a quiet night, minus the fact that Kristy's armful of bangles made obnoxious jingling sounds every time she slapped at a mosquito, which occurred about every ten seconds. And then Bert had the bad habit of emitting sounds of a dying moose every time he had to lift something moderately heavy. I caught Macy suppressing a giggle or smile when this happened, but it was all in good-nature.

With another unnecessary grunt and groan, Bert closed the doors of the van and leaned against it with a huff.

"Hey Macy, you coming out with us tonight?" Kristy asked half-heartedly.

Macy looked up, and something flared to life in her eyes. "Yeah," she said, causing my jaw to nearly drop to the ground. "I am."

Kristy smiled offhandedly. "Cool," she stated smoothly, not an ounce of shock or surprise in her demeanor. "Come on."

I drove myself to the party since I was already in the area, delivering a car part that I'd been saving for a friend. Though I wasn't exactly close friends with the people I had been back in my more troubled days, I was glad I'd at least kept the connections. It was easier for me to get my hands on things I needed for my work, and I didn't mind helping an old friend or two out. Especially if it meant they'd be able to scrounge up something for me in the future. Just call me resourceful.

After parking and making a quick scan of the opening that the party was taking place in, I concluded that Monica, Bert, Kristy, and Macy hadn't arrived yet. I found a group of old friends and went to join them.

"Wes, my man!" said one of the guys, slapping me a little drunkenly on the back as I stepped up.

"Levi," I said, clasping his hand in the rough way that men do. "Devin, Kyle." I nodded at all of my old buddies.

"Hey," said Devin. "Who was that cutie you were with the other night?" As a valet at the reception hall for a party we had catered to, Devin had passed me with Macy, I recalled, more than a little chagrined.

"No one," I said.

"Didn't look like no one!" he said with a drunken laugh. He turned to Kyle and Levi. "You should've seen this chick, cute blonde thing with a snug little body. C'mon Wes, please tell me you're hittin' that."

I ground my jaw and could feel my hands fisting on their own accord in response to the crude language. "I'm with Becky."

"Great! So she's available!"

"Shut up, Devin. You're drunk," I bit angrily. Devin wasn't a dangerous guy, but he wasn't exactly a good one. The thought that Macy grabbed his attention and, now thanks to his outburst, the attention of the rest of this crowd, was unsettling.

He laughed, but toned it down. "Relax man, I'm not going to touch her. So how have you been?"

I talked with them for about fifteen minutes, but I was way too relieved when Devin left to hit up a different party. I didn't want him here when Macy arrived.

And arrive she did. I saw the Bertmobile pull up, so I finished up the conversation before heading in the direction the ambulance had parked. Macy's eyes were wandering around the clearing with excitement, so I took the moment to take in her appearance. I was not disappointed with what I saw, and sent a silent, guilty "thank you" to Kristy. She looked soft and relaxed, with her hair spilling in gentle waves over her shoulders. Her eyes seemed to look even brighter with the glittery makeup surrounding them.

I met Kristy's eyes as she walked with an oblivious Monica, and she was smirking at me, looking at me with a knowing look. "Hey," I said, ignoring her. "What took you guys so long?"

Bert rolled his eyes upward and made a gesture toward Kristy. "What do you think?" I wasn't surprised. Kristy was infamous for testing the patience of others. I had to admit though, before we met her, Bert had had the patience of a small child. Now, he hardly seemed to mind waiting over an hour outside in the mosquito-laden night for Kristy to make an appearance.

"I heard that," Kristy said. "You know, it takes a lot of time to look like this. You can't just throw this sort of outfit together." She made a Vana White flourish over her own body, emphasizing the sixties look she was sporting tonight. She looked good, but then again Kristy usually did.

"No?" Bert contested.

She ignored him. "A fat lot of good it's doing me here, though. There aren't any good prospects."

Bert wiped at scuff on the Bertmobile. "What about that guy at the keg?" he asked.

She looked at him as though he had just belched. "Please," she said. "Can't a girl have high standards? I don't want an _ordinary_ boy."

In the jeep next to us, several girls started laughing as their blonde friend fell from the trunk. She giggled as she stood and started stumbling past us. Then, she saw Macy and stopped, wavering where she stood. She squinted at her. "Hey," she said. "I know you…Don't I know you?"

Macy looked startled. "Um, I'm not sure."

"I do, I do," she said, and started snapping her fingers. But she was a little too drunk for that complicated gesture.

"You know me, Rachel," Bert interrupted, his eyes a bit too low to be looking at her face. She _was_ wearing a rather revealing halter top though. "Bert? I tutored you last summer at the Kaplan center, in math?"

This Rachel barely even acknowledged him before looking back to Macy and exclaiming, "Oh shit, I know! We used to run together, right? In middle school? And now you date that guy, the one who's always yelling at us about bicycling!"

There was a pause.

"Recycling?" Macy attempted.

She clapped her hands; again, this was a little too difficult for her. "Right! That's it!"

Somebody shrieked and started laughing. "Rachel, you're so freaking stupid!"

Rachel stumbled around and landed between Bert and Macy on the back of the Bertmobile. "God," she laughed. "Remember how much fun we used to have at meets? And you, shit, you were _fast_. Weren't you?"

My eyebrows raised on their own, and I took in Macy at a new angle. Her long legs looked strong, I could tell from even under the snug jeans. Just looking at her you could tell she was born to run.

It took me a second to stop looking at her legs.

"Not really," Macy was saying uncomfortably.

"You were!" she said, poking Bert in the arm, who flinched as though she was going to attack him. "You should have seen her. She was so fast, like she could…fly."

Kristy snorted and hid her mouth behind her hand. I gave her an amused look. Kristy could rarely tolerate girls.

"Like she had freaking wings, you know?"

I watched Macy's face as she became fixated on her own feet, and I could tell she wished the world would just swallow her up. Or Rachel.

"She won everything," Rachel said, to me this time. Then, she slapped Macy lightly on the arm, but she kind of missed in her subpar state. "You know, the only way anyone else ever got to win anything was when you quit."

There was silence until Macy cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Well," was all she said.

"We were the Running Rovers," Rachel continued on in a louder voice for her audience. Kristy muttered something under her breath, and I could tell she was annoyed. Rachel turned to Monica. "I always thought that name was so dumb, you know? It made us sound like dogs. Go Rovers! Woof! Woof!" She doubled over laughing.

I looked up at Macy, who looked beyond mortified, and she met my eyes as Kristy muttered, "Good God."

Macy broke eye contact as Rachel regained composure (as well as she could) and put a hand on her knee. "Look," she began. "I want you to know something, okay?"

Macy's eyes widened even more, as though she knew what was coming.

Rachel leaned over as if to whisper in her ear, but she must have forgotten to lower the volume of her voice cause we could all hear her loud and clear. "And what I want you to know is that I don't care what anyone says, _I_ don't think you're all weird since that thing happened with your dad. I mean, that was messed up that you were there. Most people couldn't handle that, you know? Seeing someone die like that."

Kristy sucked in a sharp breath, but I didn't notice. Time seemed to stop as my heart broke at the look on Macy's face, the utterly defeated look of grief and despair. She tried to hide it, but I saw it, and I now knew why I hadn't seen her father at her house. I now knew why she had gotten that look in her eyes when I had spoken of my own dad.

I'd never wanted to hold someone more in my life than I did now, I wanted to reach out and touch her, envelop her in my arms so she could stop listening to this drunken, stupid girl. I wanted her to look at me, but she wouldn't. She just stared at the girl until somebody called out, "Rachel! Get over here or we're leaving you!"

"Oh!" Rachel leapt up clumsily. "Gotta go! I'm going," she said, as though she'd forgotten what she had just said. "But I meant what I said, okay? Remember that. Remember what I said. Okay?"

It was quiet as Rachel fell back into the jeep, her friends hauling her inside while laughing and calling her stupid. They drove away, screaming until they were out of earshot, and it was quiet amongst the five of us as we stood there, staring at Macy or our feet.

"That girl," Kristy started, walking over to Macy and enveloping her hand. I wish I had thought of that. "Is as dumb as a bag of hammers."

"No kidding," Bert offered, running a hand over his head. Macy looked up at Kristy, then at Bert, and I could see the defeated, apprehensive look start to fade just a little.

"Wasn't she the one you had to explain the concept of odd numbers during that summer math tutoring thing you did?" Kristy asked.

Bert nodded slowly. "Twice."

"Moron."

"Mmm-hmm," said Monica with a small smile and nod.

I looked at Macy and didn't see a girl that needed or wanted to be pitied. I hadn't when my mother died. So when she looked up at me, my face was void of any sympathy. I looked at her as I always had, as I saw her: a beautiful, strong girl. Those grey eyes bore into mine, and she was piecing together that we had something big in common, that I understood.

"Still, I did like her halter top," Kristy said longingly. I looked at Bert, and knew without a doubt that he was thinking he had liked it too. "I have a black skirt that would look just _great_ with that."

I looked at Macy's hand, wrapped around Kristy's in between their laps, and I wished more than anything that it was my hand she was holding. I cleared my throat as I thought of Becky.

"I'm going to go get a beer," I stated, turning on my heel.

** Again, sorry for the wait! Next chapter will begin in the party so get excited! Reviews are much appreciated.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Guess what I did…Updated! Again, sorry it's been so long, I hope you like it. I'd also like to apologize to the reviewers I didn't respond to from my last chapter. I appreciate all of them and thank you for the kind words! Enjoy **

Kyle and Levi lumbered up to the Bertmobile at some point. They gave Macy the once-over, but, besides a few appreciative glances, they were polite. Kristy had gotten her a beer, and it was comical to watch her stiffen every time she took a sip. It was obvious this hadn't been her typical Friday night in high school, and I had to admit that I felt a little guilty bringing her along. But, overall, she seemed to be comfortable and enjoying herself. She appeared to blend in with ease to the surrounding crowd with the look that Kristy had masterminded. I caught myself checking her out once more, and awkwardly cleared my throat and ran a hand through my hair, though no one had noticed.

Kyle subtly pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and offered them around. Levi grabbed one, and, as he pulled a cheap lighter out of his pocket, Kristy made a sound of protest.

"If you don't mind," she started politely. "Could you guys smoke those somewhere else?"

"Sure thing, gorgeous," Kyle said with a grin, heading around the ambulance with Levi. He turned to realize I wasn't following and said, "Hey, will you join us? I wanna chat."

I nodded once and followed the two. They lit up and took a few drags. I itched for a cigarette as I smelled the sweet smoke, but I had successfully quit and I wasn't about to start up again. Instead, I watched the little puffs of smoke disappear into the humid night air.

"So…" Kyle began a little awkwardly, and I was certain he was going to ask about Macy. Instead, he surprised me with, "How's Becky doing?"

Kyle had always had eyes for Becky. It was something that had bothered me at first, but I knew Kyle now. He was a loyal friend, and I trusted him not to try anything. He looked at me now uneasily, and I knew he would only ask about her if he was desperate for information.

"She's okay," I said, running a hand through my hair. "She hates it there, though. You know how she is."

He let out a laugh.

"She's never been one for authority," Levi stated, taking a quick drag before nursing his beer in his other massive hand.

"Or consequences."

"You miss her?" asked Kyle.

I met his eyes evenly, challenging him to undermine the legitimacy of my feelings for my girlfriend. "Of course I do."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and nodded.

"When are they setting her loose?" Levi asked.

I shrugged, opening my ears to the relaxing babble of voices and music of Crooked Stick. "It's up to her. If she's good, then in about a month or two. But it just takes one screw-up."

Kyle said, "She'll be a good girl if it means getting out."

"If she had been a 'good girl', she'd already be out," I told him.

The three of us were silent for a bit. Since I was closest to the ambulance, I could hear Kristy's voice just barely.

"Sort-of boyfriends," she was saying. "They sort-of like you, then they sort-of don't. The only thing they're absolutely sure of is they want to get into your pants. I _hate_ that." If I had been a dog, my ears would prick in interest to the feminine voice. Call me scum, but this sounded interesting.

"Mmm-hmm," came Monica's profound reply.

"Actually," came Macy's voice. I could tell she was a little affected by the beer; a lightweight, no doubt. Normally, her voice was quiet. Not meek, just low and soft in volume. It was gradually becoming more prominent, which I assumed correlated to the alcohol intake. "It's not like that, exactly. We're more sort-of not together, and not broken up. We're on a break."

Of course she had a boyfriend. Of course, of course, of course. Kristy had even said she had the feeling Macy did, but I just brushed it off. I felt guilty when I noticed a tug of disappointment deep in my gut. It was awful of me to be disappointed; I had a girlfriend, and I wasn't a cheater.

"A break," Kristy said slowly. "Meaning…"

I didn't even notice Levi and Kyle getting into a heated debate over something as I waited for Macy's answer, listening intently from my hiding spot. Insects buzzed loudly from the woods hedging the clearing, nearly drowning out the white noise of the crowd of mingling teenagers and young adults.

"Meaning that there were some concerns about us not wanting the same things, not having the same expectations. So we've agreed to not be in contact until the end of the summer, and then we're going to see where we stand."

There was some more silence. "That," said Kristy, "is just so very mature."

"Well, that's Jason," said Macy. I repeated the name in my head, sounding it out. I'd never liked that name. Never had met a Jason I'd liked, in fact, I concluded satisfactorily. "It was his idea, really."

"Wes, man, tell him these Black and Milds are shit," Levi stated loudly in my ear, shaking a box of gas station-bought cigars in my face.

"These Black and Milds are shit," I repeated automatically, struggling to hear.

Levi punched me in the arm, and I winced. He hadn't been nicknamed Paul Bunyan in high school for nothing. The guy was enormous. "I told you, man!" he shouted drunkenly, and Kyle leaned away, out of punching distance. For a second, I thought my cover was going to be blown and I'd see Kristy or Macy or Monotone poke their head around the van to see what all the fuss was about. It wasn't like I'd heard anything terrible, but I _was_ eavesdropping on "girl talk", which, in Kristy's slightly warped opinion, was one of the greatest crimes of all. But nobody came to investigate, and, after Levi calmed down, I could hear again.

"…hardly reacted to Wes," Kristy was saying, and my brows furrowed. Why was she bringing me into this? "I mean, you did a little, but nothing like most girls. It was a little swoon. Not a _sa-woon_, you know?"

I could just picture Macy's face as she repeated slowly, "Sa-woon?" Kristy had a way with words.

"Oh, come on. Even a blind girl could tell he's amazing."

I wasn't a guy with a low self-esteem, but hearing this was definitely not hurting me. I glanced at Levi, studying him to see if he was readying himself for another outburst. But, in all honesty, he looked to be about two minutes away from passing out. I noted this probably a little too happily.

"So why haven't you gone out with him?" Macy countered cleverly.

"Can't," Kristy replied without missing a beat. "He's too much like family. I mean, after the accident, when my mom flaked out and took off to find herself and we came to live with Stella, I was crazy for him. We both were."

"Bettaquit," Monica said warningly, not liking the fact her sister was spilling her secrets. I always had the feeling Monica resented me a lot for spurning her, and I knew it was because she was a girl with moderately low self-esteem and confidence. Then again, it was hard to spurn a girl that was almost physically incapable of showing interest in, well, anything.

"It's still a sore subject," Kristy explained. "Anyway, I did everything I could to get his attention, but he'd just gotten back from Myers School then, was still dealing with his mom dying and all that. So he had a lot on his mind. At least I told myself that's why he could resist me."

I felt myself grin. I loved Kristy to death, and I knew I'd like her as soon as I'd met her. But she was right, I had never seen her as more than a sister. She was beautiful, smart, and confident, sure, but she wasn't for me. She deserved somebody great, though, somebody that would worship the ground she walked on and treat her like the princess she was. But that guy had never been me.

"Myers School?" Macy repeated, and I felt a little lurch.

"Yeah," said Kristy. "It's a reform school." I knew she wouldn't say more, but Macy didn't push the subject. I wasn't certain whether this was a good or bad thing. At least if she asked, Kristy could let her know I hadn't done anything _too_ awful, like hurt somebody. But at the same time, I liked to keep that part of my past out of my present.

"Okay, tell us about the sort-of boyfriend."

"Oh," said Macy, not expecting this. "We've been dating for a year and a half. He went away for the summer, and a couple of weeks after he left, he decided we take this break. I was really upset about it. I still am, actually."

I hadn't realized I'd been leaning forward in my chair until I felt myself slump back into it in surprise. I just couldn't wrap my head around it. Who would want to take a break from such a gorgeous girl?

"So he met someone else," Kristy concluded a little cynically.

"No, it's not like that," Macy countered defensively. "He's at Brain Camp."

"Huh?" came Monica's verbose reply.

"Brain Camp. It's like a smart-kid thing."

I snorted to myself. The kid couldn't be too smart, in my opinion.

"Then he met someone else at Brain Camp," Kristy said. You couldn't blame the girl; in the Chronicles of Kristy, she'd been cheated on and dumped for other girls (and one guy) more times than I could count. I had no idea why; the other girls were always trashy things compared to Kristy. But together, we decided that there was just no one man enough to take on her ferocious spunk and independence, and this was something I truly believed in at heart.

"No, it's not about someone else."

"Then what is it about?" Kristy asked, a little frustrated that she couldn't comprehend Macy's dilemma.

"Well, a lot of things." There was a pause, then, "Basically, it came down to the fact that I ended an email by saying I loved him, which is, you know, big, and it made him uncomfortable. And he felt that I wasn't focused enough on my job at the library. There's probably more, but that's the main stuff."

All was quiet as the three of us processed this. I was trying to dispel the immense disappointment that was clouding my head as I took in the fact that she loved this guy. Maybe I could somewhat see why he would freak out over that (not that I'd mind having a pretty girl telling me she loved me), but what was the deal about the library? Was she not stacking books fast enough?

Who was this guy?

"Donneven," said Monica. And, for once, I felt like she had summed everything up pretty well.

But my eavesdropping was rudely interrupted as I jumped from my seat in a successful effort to dodge Levi's projectile vomiting.

"Oh, dude! Gross" exclaimed Kyle, looking at his puke-covered shoes in despair. Levi took one look at him and let out a few guffaws before round number two of the vomiting began.

My nose wrinkling in disgust at the pungent aroma, and the rest of the conversation lost to my ears, I sidestepped the shenanigans and took off across the clearing, calling out to them, "I'm going to go look for paper towels."

I wasn't going to look for paper towels, even though I craved to come back and gain more insight into the life of the elusive Macy. Truth is, I felt pretty guilty about hearing what was obviously not meant for my ears. And I also needed to meet an old friend for some rebars I'd been promised.

Rebar in hand, I loped across the clearing once again. I noted with a mixture of chagrin and quiet joy that Macy was all alone this time.

She hadn't seen me yet; I could easily just turn around and walk away from her. I _should_ turn around and walk away, I knew that. But I didn't.

"Hey," I said. She looked up at me in subdued surprise as I approached, her blonde curls bouncing on her shoulders. I set the rebar down in the ambulance before taking a seat next to her. "Where is everybody?"

"The keg," Macy said, nodding towards the other side of the clearing where a cluster of kids could be seen.

"Oh. Right."

The paragon of an "awkward silence" ensued for the next minute. We both stared ahead of us, pretending (at least on my part) to be interested in the drunken antics of the people within sight. At some point, a summer breeze ruffled Macy's hair, sending the smell of shampoo and the slightest hint of perfume directly towards my nose. She smelled so feminine, so sensual. I took deep breaths of it as I stared straight ahead, resisting the urge to look at her to put a feminine and sensual image to the smell.

"So," Macy said, startling me out of my reverie. "What is that?"

When I turned to her, she was staring at me. I almost reached a hand to my face, expecting to have something on it. Levi vomit, perhaps. But she quickly glanced down at my arm. "Your tattoo, I mean. I've never been able to see what it is."

"Oh," I said, a little relieved I seemed to be vomit free. I pushed my shirtsleeve up so she could get a better view. "It's just this design. You saw it that first day you came out to Delia's, right?"

She nodded slowly, but I could tell (with no small amount of pride) that she was entranced by the design. I watched her grey eyes follow the lines.

"Right," she said in a soft, distracted voice. She looked up at me again. "Does it mean something?"

I tilted my head. "Sort of. It's something my mom used to draw for me when I was a kid." I could still see my mom's fingers wrapped around a pen as she drew the design at the kitchen table on lazy afternoons. She used to draw it on my lunch bags, on cards, anything that would let Bert and me know that it was from her.

"Really," Macy said.

I nodded. "Yeah. She had this whole thing about the hand and the heart, how they were connected." I traced my finger lightly over the design before looking back up at her. "You know, feeling and action are always linked, one can't exist without the other. It's sort of a hippie thing. She was into that stuff."

Macy had a tiny smile on her face as she stared at the design. She looked back up at me, her eyes bright. "I like it," she said. "I mean, the idea of it. It makes sense."

I smiled, looking back down at my tattoo. "After she died I started tinkering with it, you know, with the welding. This one has the circle, the one on the road has the barbed wire. They're all different, but with the same basic idea."

"Like a series," she said.

I shrugged. "I guess. Mostly I'm just trying to get it right, whatever that means."

"It's hard to do," she said after a moment of silence.

I looked at her. "What is?"

She was quiet for a second or two. Then she said softly, "Get it right."

I thought about this, how accurate of a statement it was. I felt like it could only be understood by people like us, that had gone through hell and back. "Yeah," I finally said after turning it over in my head. "It is."

I caught another waft of her charming aroma as another light breeze stirred her hair. I envisioned tracing my fingers over her bare shoulder. It looked silky, just barely kissed by the sun. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep my inappropriate thoughts at bay.

"I'm sorry about your mom," Macy said out of the blue.

I kept my eyes forward. "I'm sorry about your dad," I said softly. "I remember him from coaching the Lakeview Zips, when I was a kid." I remembered him perfectly. He had a big smile that crinkled his whole face and grey eyes just like Macy. I noticed them because they were always so vibrant and bright during our meets, even when we were doing poorly. I wondered if Macy used to have that same spark in them before tragedy struck her life. "He was great," I said, with all the sincerity in the world.

We were quiet again until something sparked my curiosity. "So, why'd you stop?"

She looked at me, a little startled. "Stop what?"

"Running."

She looked down into her cup. "I don't know," she said quietly, unconvincingly. "I just wasn't into it anymore."

"How fast were you?" I asked, genuinely interested.

She shrugged. "Not that fast."

"You mean you couldn't….fly?" I asked, grinning at her.

She kept her head ducked as her face turned a little pink, but she was smirking. "No, I couldn't fly."

"What was your best time for the mile?"

She looked at me suspiciously. "Why?"

I cleared my throat. "Just wondering," I said. "I mean, I run. So I'm curious." The curiosity was bubbling over.

"I don't remember," she lied.

"Oh, come on, tell me," I pleaded, bumping her shoulder with mine. "I can take it."

She tilted her head back in faux exasperation before looking at me, smiling. "Okay, fine. My best was five minutes, five seconds."

I stared at her. It was a struggle to keep the look of shock off of my face. "Oh," I squeaked.

"What? What was yours?" Her eyes widened with her own curiosity.

I coughed and turned my head. "Never mind." No way in hell did she need to know how badly she could kick my ass.

She laughed. "Oh, see, that's not fair."

"It's more than five-five, let's leave it at that." I smiled a little sheepishly.

"That was years ago," she said, as if that made a difference to my poor, wounded ego. "Now I probably couldn't even do a half a mile in that time."

I met Kristy's eyes across the clearing. Some blonde guy was talking to her. For a second I thought he might be deaf and trying to sign with her, his arms were moving around so much. But her eyes and smile were mischievous as she looked at me, flitting her catlike eyes pointedly at Macy. I looked away.

I picked up a rod and pretended to be interested in it. "I bet you could," I told Macy. "I bet you'd be faster than you think." I rolled my eyes toward her with a smirk. "Though maybe not fast enough to fly."

"You could outrun me easily, I bet," she stated.

I looked ahead, into the clearing. "Well," I began, knowing I should just bite back the sentence and let it die. But I continued. "Maybe someday, we'll find out."

The proposition hung in there, that possibility of being friends and doing things beyond catering and hanging out with the gang. I could feel her looking at me, studying me, but I couldn't find it in myself to look back. Instead, I watched as Kristy, Bert, and Monica approached the Bertmobile.

"Twenty minutes to curfew," Bert exclaimed, louder than warranted as we were right there. "We need to go."

"Oh my God," Kristy said, feigning shock. "You might actually have to go over twenty-five to get us home in time!"

I smiled as Bert glowered at her, and crawled backwards into the van, pulling the doors shut after everyone had settled in. Then we made our way home.

As we exited the Bertmobile together after dropping Macy off at her car, Kristy caught up to me and gave me a look.

"What?" I asked her.

"I think Macy's into you, Wes," she stated. I looked ahead. "And I think you're into her."

"I'm dating Becky," I told her firmly.

She snorted. "What a coincidence, you have another thing in common: you're both dating losers that you're too good for."

With that said, she bounced ahead, leaving me to ponder what she'd said. It was the first time I hadn't automatically defended Becky.

Either way, I knew I liked talking to Macy. Once I got over the fact I found her incredibly attractive, I wouldn't feel like I'd just cheated on Becky every time I talked to the blonde beauty. I could see her becoming a friend, if anything.


	11. Chapter 11

**Here's the next chapter! Sorry it's kind of boring, I'm hoping to update sooner now that I'm home from school. Enjoy, and thanks for reading! **

I sat at the kitchen table, fiddling with my phone as a light summer rain skipped against the windows. I heard the television click off in the living room, and Bert walked into the kitchen a few seconds later. He leaned against the counter, looking out at the rain. A rumble of thunder sounded.

"I have to talk to you," I said tentatively.

Bert turned and folded his arms in front of his chest. He studied me carefully. "What is it?"

I cleared my throat. "Dad called me a couple days ago."

My brother continued to stare at me.

"He wants to go out for lunch. On Fathers' Day."

I could see my brother fighting to keep the emotions off his face, but I saw them clear as day: confusion, anger, hope. Though he never said it, I knew Bert's dream was to have our father back in our lives. It made me angry; my father didn't deserve to have a kid like Bert vying for his attention. I could almost see why my dad turned my back on me. I was royally fucked up for a long time. But Bert? Bert was a good kid, a perfect kid. Why he had turned his back on such a good son would forever be a mystery to me.

"So…What'd you tell him?"

"I told him I'd get back to him. I figured I should talk to you first."

Bert turned around and pulled out some bread from the pie drawer. He wasn't hungry, just looking for something to do that didn't require him having to physically face me. It was Bert's way of curling in on himself.

"Why didn't he call me?" he asked angrily.

"Maybe he doesn't have your number," I tried.

Bert slapped some peanut butter violently onto one of the slices. "Well, he got your number somehow."

"Listen, how about you ask him yourself."

"He can call me if he wants to-"

"At lunch, I meant."

Bert stopped mutilating his peanut butter sandwich and turned to me slowly. He gauged my face, looking for any sign that this was some sort of joke. "You…You'd go?"

I scratched my head, still wondering if this was a bad idea. "Not on Fathers' Day. A day around then, though. If you want, I mean."

Bert pulled out the chair next to me and sat down. "Wes, you always talk about how much you hate him," he said. "How you'd never talk to him again in a million years."

This was putting it nicely. I could hear the question hanging in the air, _What changed? _All I could think of was Macy giving me her advice while we worked in the kitchen together. Those sad grey eyes, missing her own dad while I hated mine.

"I'm not his biggest fan, you're right. And I still think he's a dick who's going to screw us over, but I think we can get some closure out of it at least. Hear the bastard out." I grinned at this last sentence, trying to wipe that serious expression off of Bert's face.

It didn't work. Maybe Bert thought it was a bad idea, or maybe he thought I'd change my mind and refuse to go.

"Do you want to call him?" I asked, offering my phone to him with the contact pulled up.

Bert looked at it and slowly looked at me, biting off a piece of his sandwich and swallowing without chewing. "No," he said around a mouthful. "He called you, so you do it." With that he crossed into the living room and plopped down on the well-worn couch, flipping on the TV.

"_Now if the glaciers do melt, chances are there will be an enormous tsunami that will swallow the whole world."_

I rolled my eyes and looked back to my phone. I took a breath, then pressed the call button.

"_We should all prepare ourselves for the end of the world_."

"Dad? It's me."

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in the grocery store, attempting to sell some of my pieces. A man who had bought his wife a sculpture for her birthday was also the owner of the store, and called me weeks later to see if I wanted to sell in the store for a small commission. Now, I found myself standing in the store, talking to numerous women and selling several pieces. As I was still reeling a little from scheduling lunch with my father a few days after Fathers' Day, I found the idle chitchat and sales pitching soothing.

"Now, I'll need you to come deliver it personally," a feisty older woman was saying as she wrote her address on a piece of paper. "I don't have those big strong muscles like you." She winked at me and squeezed my upper arm playfully.

I laughed good-naturedly. "Oh stop ma'am, you're making me blush."

The woman hooted with laughter before pulling out her checkbook. I was used to being hit on by older women; it was a common occurrence during our catering gigs. Once, a very intoxicated woman attempted (and succeeded) to make her husband very jealous by hitting on me for an entire night. The man was huge, and, naturally, I was terrified. Delia sent me home early before my nose was broken.

"This will look just perfect by my front door," the woman was saying now, her huge floppy hat obstructing her face as she wrote the check. She ripped it off and handed it to me. I looked at it.

"Ma'am, this is too much money," I said. "The price tag says-"

"Oh I know what the price tag said, young man," she snapped at me. "But I know a good piece of art when I see one, and you're not asking nearly enough for it. So just take the damn money."

"But-"

"Don't make me write you one for more."

We had a short stare-down, but I knew I wouldn't win this one. In all honesty, I was too flattered to come up with an appropriate response.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll deliver it tomorrow morning."

She smiled and patted my arm, beginning to walk away. "That's a good boy. Goodbye, now."

I watched her walk away before stuffing the check in my pocket with all the others.

"Macy, what are you doing?"

I heard the voice to my right, and instantly searched for it. I saw a blonde girl as she walked to the back of an aisle, where, to my surprise, Macy stood. She was holding a pot, and staring at it very focused and determinedly. As the girl I assumed to be her sister asked her a question, Macy gestured to the pan. Then, she glanced my way and looked surprised-or startled-to see me.

I lifted my hand and waved. Macy's face flushed, and then her sister glanced at me. I ran my hand through my hair and looked away, feeling a little awkward. Finally, Macy grabbed her sister and sauntered up to me.

"Hey," I said as she approached. "I thought that was you."

"Hi," she said, looking at me with those big grey eyes. She was wearing a track shirt, flip flops, and these little white shorts that showed off her long legs.

Her sister was distracted by my sculptures, running a finger along one of the turning gears. "These are amazing," she said, with no lack of sincerity. "I just love this medium."

"Thanks," I said. "It's all from the junkyard."

The woman circled the sculpture like a shark, and I could tell she was looking at the art through experienced, knowledgeable eyes.

"This is Wes," Macy told the woman. "Wes, this is my sister, Caroline."

They both had the same blonde hair and high cheekbones, and they were both tall and thin. But Macy had her father's eyes, while Caroline's were hazel or brown.

"Nice to meet you," said Caroline. She offered me her hand, and I shook it, smiling as she began circling the sculptures again. "What's great about this," she said authoritatively, "is the contrast. It's a real juxtaposition between subject matter and materials."

I hadn't really thought that far into it, but it sounded good to me. I looked at Macy and raised my eyebrows, impressed. Macy shook her head and offered an apologetic look, and looked back at her sister, much as a student would settle in to watch as a teacher began a lecture.

"See, it's one thing to do angels, but what's crucial here is how the medium spells out the concept. Angels, by definition, are supposed to be perfect. So by building them out of rusty pieces, and discards and scraps, the artist is making a statement about the fallibility of even the most ideal creatures."

_Wow_, I thought, wishing I could write this down and recite it to potential customers.

"Wow," Macy echoed as Caroline continued circling and muttering. "I'm impressed."

"Me too," I murmured back. "I had no idea. I just couldn't afford new materials when I started."

Macy let out a surprised laugh. I glanced at her quickly, catching her in the act and grinning despite myself. I caught her eye and we stood there for a moment, smiling at each other. She looked beautiful in her casual lazy-Sunday attire, and I wondered again how any guy could run from a girl like this telling him she loved him.

And for one strange moment, I knew we were having some kind of moment. I looked at her lips, tantalizingly turned up into that coquettish smile, before Caroline broke our trance.

"Oh, wow," she said excitedly. "Is this sheet metal you used for the face?"

I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck, trying to focus on what she was talking about. "That's an old Coke sign. I found it at the dump."

Her eyes lit up. "A Coke sign! And the bottle caps…it's the inevitable commingling between commerce and religion. I love that!" She spun around and faced me, waiting for my response.

I realized I had none, so I just nodded. "Right," I told her. Happy with this, she spun back to the other sculptures like a toddler rifling through her Christmas presents. "Just liked the Coke sign, actually," I said quietly to Macy.

Macy laughed again. "Of course you did."

A nice, post-rain breeze blew through the open doors, sending the scent of rain and Macy's hair wafting towards me. I took a deep breath. She smiled like lavender and vanilla. The breeze had caused some of the halos to spin, and it caught her attention. She bent down next to one, studying the sea glass attached. She ran a long, slender finger along it.

"What is this?" she asked me, looking up at me.

"Sea glass," I said, bending down beside her. "See the shapes? No rough edges."

"Oh, right," she said, trailing the pad of her finger along the edges. "That's so cool."

I shrugged. "It's hard to find," I told her. I reached out and spun the halo again, then watched the glass whiz by as I tried to ignore how close I was to Macy. Her long legs looked so smooth, I had to physically fight the urge to run my fingers along them as she had done to the sea glass.

I cleared my throat again. "I bought that collection at a flea market, for, like, two bucks." She looked at me, and I was struck again by how similar her eyes looked to some of the sea glass. "I wasn't sure what I was going to use it for, then, but it seemed like too good a thing to pass up."

"It's beautiful," she said, staring at the angel again. I watched her eyes rove over the angel, delighted that she liked it.

"You want it?" I asked.

She looked at me, surprised. "I couldn't."

I grinned, standing back up. "Sure you can," I told her. "I'm offering. Here," I said as I picked up the little sculpture.

"Wes. I can't."

"You can. You'll pay me back somehow."

"How?"

A few less gentlemanly ideas popped into my head, and I quickly brushed them aside. "Someday, you'll agree to run that mile with me. And then we'll know for sure whether you can kick my ass."

She looked conflicted. "I'd rather pay you for it. How much?" she asked, pulling her wallet from her back pocket.

"Macy, I was kidding," I said. "I know you could kick my ass."

She studied my face, looking for anything in my face that would tell her not to take it. I smiled at her. "Look," I said pleasantly, "Just take it."

She looked torn for a moment longer, then said, "Okay. But I am paying you back somehow, sometime."

If only, I thought wistfully, again casting away those tantalizing ideas. "Sure. Whatever you want."

Caroline, who had picked her way to the farther end of my arrangement, had a phone pressed to her ear and was quickly zeroing in on us again. I felt a little intimidated by this woman, who obviously knew what she was doing and what she wanted. She was digging through her purse at the moment.

"…No, it's more like a yard art thing, but I just think it would look great on the back porch of the mountain house, right by that rock garden I've been working on. Oh you should just see these. They're so much better than those iron herons they sell at Atache Gardens for hundreds of dollars. Well, I know you liked those, honey, but these are better. They are."

I glanced at Macy, who was clutching the little angel to her chest and watching her sister with the ghost of a smile. One hand ran idly along the sea glass.

"Iron herons?" I asked.

"She lives in Atlanta," she told me, confusion in her voice as well.

When Caroline hung up the phone, she turned to me, her eyes narrowing. "All right," she said. "Let's talk prices."

Caroline turned out to be an excellent customer, and even wanted to see my bigger pieces. We arranged to meet so she could come see them in my workshop, and wrote me a check for the angel she'd picked out.

"A steal," she said, handing me the check. "Really. You should be charging more."

"Maybe if I show someplace else," I said honestly, putting the check in my pocket without looking at it. "But it's hard to get pricey when you have baked goods on either side of you."

She smiled, bending over to pick up two of her angels. "You will show someplace else," she told me confidently. "It's only a matter of time." I smiled and nodded my thanks to her. She hitched her purse up on her shoulder and looked at her watch. "Oh, Macy, we have to run. I told Mom we'd be home for lunch so we could look at the rest of those color swatches."

Color swatches? This girl seemed like a force of nature. She opened her mouth to say something to me, and then got distracted by an angel to my left. She made an "oooh" sound and flitted over to it like a little hummingbird.

Macy watched her with deadpan eyes. "Well," she said to me. "Thank you again."

"No problem," I said, then gestured to Caroline. "Thanks for the business."

She laughed. "That's not me," she said. "It's all her."

I shrugged. "Still, thanks anyways."

"Excuse me," a woman from behind me called. She was standing by a big sculpture with a "sold" sign draped across it. "Do you have others like this?"

I looked back to Macy. "I should go, I guess."

She nodded. "Go, I'll see you later."

"Yeah, see you around."

I walked over to the woman, who was studying the sold sign shrewdly, probably trying to find a way around that little inconvenience. Fortunately, I had another one like this. I began talking to her, spiels about commerce and religion and juxtapositions already lost to me. As the woman talked to me, I watched Macy leave. As her sister chattered happily beside her, Macy was looking down at her angel, one finger on the sea glass.

I wondered if she would think of me whenever she looked at it. I realized I would like it if she did.


	12. Chapter 12

**So I'm super proud of myself for updating twice in two days! This is just a little reward for people who have been sticking with me despite my inability to update in a timely manner. I'm sorry if the content of this chapter is too much, but I know what I'd like to see more of in Sarah Dessen's books, so here's a little treat for those of you with the same mindset as myself…**

That night, I stood in my workshop late into the night as I worked on some unfinished pieces. I sat back against the counter, grabbing the beer on my right and taking a swig as I examined my latest adjustment. A knock at the open door broke my concentration, and I wondered who would be up this late.

To my complete surprise, Macy stepped into the workshop. She was wearing a blue tank top and those delightful little shorts. Her blonde hair feathered past her shoulders, teasing the exposed, flawless skin there. Her legs were long and mouthwatering in those shorts.

"Sorry for interrupting," she said in her lilting voice, smiling. She stood there like some enticing apparition.

"Macy, what are you doing here?" I asked, not at all displeased with the interruption. "It's pretty late."

She shrugged, walking over to my latest piece to study it. She ran a provocative finger along another piece of sea glass before tracing circles over the sheet metal.

"I just wanted to thank you again for the angel," she said, still looking at the unfinished sculpture.

I was still staring dreamily at her, drifting off into some languid stupor as her scent filled my nose, alerting me even further to her presence.

"I'm glad you like it," I managed.

She lifted those sea glass eyes to me and tilted her lips up agonizingly slow. "I was just lying in bed, looking at it," she told me, turning to face me. "And I just had to come tell you how beautiful I think it is."

I was still leaning back against the counter, completely baffled and shocked that she was here. She was watching me like some angel, with that coquettish smile that made her eyes crinkle and sparkle. She was Aphrodite in that moment. "You're beautiful," I breathed in response, having no control over the words.

Her smile widened as she looked towards the floor, tucking a lock of her golden hair behind her ear. A sexy pink tinge lighted her cheeks, and I found my hand reaching for her, my fingers sliding under her delicate jaw and pulling her chin up so that her eyes met mine.

Before I knew it, I was leaning down and kissing her, my lips landing on hers lightly, tentatively. Her lips were soft and plump, and as soon as she responded, desire erupted inside of me. I pushed my hand far back into her hair, grasping a handful and holding on for dear life and I used the other hand to turn us so that she was pressed against the counter.

As her back connected with the wood, her hands flew up under my shirt, her soft fingers tracing over my abdomen. I kissed her hard and breathlessly, pulling her hips toward me and crushing her against me. My tongue darted out and fought for entrance. She surrendered instantly with a tiny mewl of desire that was almost my undoing. I gripped her waist, my other hand just brushing against the side of her breast before reaching up to cup her cheek. My thumb glided lightly along her sexy jawline. Her hands ran up my back as she nipped my bottom lip, and I shuddered.

My hands glided down her sides, landing on her perfect rear. I lingered there for a moment, squeezing lightly. In one swift, sure move, I lifted her up and set her on the counter. She gasped, and then grinned mischievously at me. I nudged her knees apart and stepped in between her thighs, pulling her even more closely so that she was pressed firmly against me.

The action had her tilting her head back in a moan, and I took the opportunity to smother her slender neck with hard, wet kisses. Her hand fisted in my hair, her other one landing on my upper arm. I began-

My phone erupted into vibrations beside me. I jerked awake, my nerves rattled. I clenched my jaw as the phone vibrated next to me. I was so angry at whoever was calling that I just stared at my ceiling as I tried to calm myself down. I finally managed to pick up the phone, willing it to just crumble in my hand so that I could slip back into the amazing dream I'd been so rudely snatched out of. I glanced at the screen. It was an unknown number, but I recognized the area code: it was Becky.

For the first time ever, I debated whether I should answer it or not. My thumb hovered over the accept and decline buttons. The truth was that I wasn't sure if I could talk to Becky right now. Would she be able to tell how overcome with desire for another girl I was? Would she somehow know that, as I listened to her curse the people trying to help her, visions of a beautiful blonde kissing me while perched atop a counter would be crashing fiercely through my mind?

As I debated this in my head, the decision was made for me. The phone stopped vibrating, and I stared at it a few seconds longer before setting it back on the nightstand. I turned my attention back to the ceiling, trying to slow my breathing and raging desire. I looked down my body at the tent currently pitched above my thighs, and sighed, beyond frustrated.

I shouldn't be dreaming about another girl like this. Becky was still my girlfriend. So I had two choices: I needed to end things with Becky, therefore freeing myself to think any thoughts I wanted, or I could shut off this desire for Macy.

With the breeze drifting through my open window, I thought about this long and hard. I could do this, I decided. I could see Macy as only a friend. I could stop this longing. I could, and I would, stay true to Becky.

Happy with my decision, I turned over and shut my eyes. Trying to shut out images of my dream proved nearly impossible. Needless to say, I was in for a long night.


End file.
